


Haven or Heathen?

by Havenlyfics



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Gunplay, Knifeplay, Marriage, Mental Institutions, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Mutilation, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Reunion Sex, Scarification, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 52,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havenlyfics/pseuds/Havenlyfics
Summary: Gotham inspired fanfic - ready to start a new life in Gotham, Agneta Haven is self assured she’s turned over a new leaf; but when she finds herself personally entangled with a figure from her past, she learns she cannot run from her demons–in fact, this may just be where they are most at home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! First post here oh my gosh! This is an agonizingly slow story telling you now :p bear with me and lemme know what you think!

It will be different here. 

 

The woman awoke sharply at the high pitch of the train whistle as it pulled into the station. Had she slept the whole trip? She glanced out through the window with groggy eyes at the city she would now call home; Gotham. True, not a city of repute, or order - but there was a familiarity with it she couldn’t seem to place. The buildings towered, the clouds drifted slow across the sky; it was the utter opposite of her previous home; which she felt was what she needed…

“Ma’am this is the last stop, you coming or going?”

She was startled as a conductor sneered at her impatiently; perhaps her sleep had been longer than she’d thought. She gathered her singular suitcase and mauve scarf from beside her; you don’t need much to start a new life. “My apologies sir, I was only caught up looking at the city; its vastly different from anywhere I’ve been,” she gave the man a bashful smile as she moved to step past him “I’ve never been here before and I am very e-excited to see Gotham for myself–” the man caught her shoulder unexpectedly; had it been firmer, she may have reacted poorly. 

“Lady, you seem like an eager young thing, so lemme give you a piece of advice about this city”

She smiled again, thankful for advice from the well traveled fellow.

“This city is different in the worst ways. Get some protection for yourself before you even find a job.”

She felt mildly stunned as the man turned and sauntered through the adjoining door to the next car; her hands fumbled as she attempted to wrap her scarf round her mussed hair. “Different in the worst ways,” she thought to herself, stepping onto the platform “different is exactly what I need right now. And besides,” she thought, as her heels clacked against the stained cement “I already have work. I will be fine. Things will be different here.” 

 

In the same city, some many miles away, a gruff police detective was agonizing over conflicting reports regarding a spree of murders running rampant in Gotham. Dark hair, hair like snow, short, tall as a tree; nobody he spoke to could make heads or tails of it all. 

“Jim you’re worrying yourself sick over all that” his partner chided, handing him a mug of black coffee. “just wait til the new sketch artist gets here; he’ll be able to string it all together I bet.”

“I appreciate that Harv, but unless this Haken or whoever can find us a 3 headed man, I don’t see how he’s gonna help.” He pressed his thumb and finger to his eyes and sighed; it had been too long since he’d had any sleep.

“Put it away for now at least, go home, get some rest; these reports will still be here when he comes in.” Harvey couldn’t be argued with on that point. With a nod, Jim took up his jacket and left the precinct; leaving again his umpteenth coffee cup to go cold at his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agneta becomes acquainted with her new coworkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be an incredibly slow build up folks; but I appreciate you sticking with me!

As she strode into the precinct, the first word that entered her mind was chaos; the room lit by poorly maintained fixtures and a long uncleaned window was whirring with the sounds of guilty perps, frustrated officers, crying family members and a chorus of footsteps. She paused only a moment to watch this circus before she steeled her nerves and made her way to the captain’s office; only to find no one within.

“Lookin’ for someone, darlin’?” she turned to see an older man, clad in poorly maintained hair and a fedora, his brows screwed up in an inquisitive expression.

“O-oh, yes - I was meant to meet with the captain today, I’m the new sketch artist,” she extended a leather gloved hand to him. “Agneta Haven, sir.”

The man looked puzzled for a moment, before he allowed a smile and took her hand. “Harvey Bullock, miss; sorry, the captain lead us to believe we were gettin’ a guy artist-didn’t expect to see anyone lookin’ like you comin’ to her door.” He was right; she did look out of place in this den of dark hues and shades of grey. Her black overcoat could hardly hide the sprays of indigo blue flowers printed on her mustard yellow dress - suddenly embarrassed, she raised her case slightly to cover herself.

“I-I must admit this is my first serious job; I wasn’t sure what attire would be appropriate here,” she glanced up at Harvey’s face, relieved to see no trace of disdain in it; he seemed only to be teasing.

“It’s alright Miss Haven, we could use a little sunshine and flowers around here. If you’re obliged to it, we can get you set up at a desk and get you started; as a matter of fact my partner and I are in need of your expertise at the moment…”

She allowed herself to relax as her new colleague placed a hand round her shoulder and walked her to a small desk, thankfully away from the buzz and banter of the bullpen; it was bringing up a few too many memories she’d prefer not to think on. As she settled in and made idle chat with Harvey, a man in a taupe trenchcoat came striding into the little sequestered corner.

“Oh, Miss Haven; this is my partner, Jim Gordon. Jim this is the new sketch artist - we were just getting acquainted and getting her up to speed on the case we’re working.” Harvey patted his partner on the back as Agneta rose to say hello; she couldn’t help but note as he smiled at their handshake that his eyes did not smile with him; they seemed far older than the years on his face showed her.

“Glad to have you Miss Haven. We’re in the midst of working a strange string of murders right now, and we can’t seem to make heads or tails of the intel we’re getting. hoping you can help us out," Jim already had the files in hand; he was eager to get going. “These are recorded transcripts, hopefully they will be enough for you to get started.” Agneta nodded, made pleasantries with the two men, but couldn’t help but feel relieved as they walked away. She was ready to set into the files, and was best left to do so on her own; it was in these quiet moments she did her best work.

The sun had set as she was making her way home to her cramped apartment; some things, it turned out, were not so different from her previous life. Still, her first day had proved to be agreeable, at least; she’d managed a composite sketch of the murderer that Jim and Harvey needed, as well as 3 others for varying sets of officers; some competent, some less so. Still she had seen hide nor hair of the captain, though perhaps that meant she was doing her job, rather than sitting pretty on clout. She enjoyed the idea of such a superior, and ambled slowly down the streets of Gotham, drinking in her new home. She unlocked the two deadbolts protecting her home, and let herself in; immediately re locking them and doing up the chain on the door. Just as she’d done since she was a child, she went through her home and assured herself that all her entrances and windows were locked; she wasn’t about to allow herself into any unpleasant situations here. When this was said and done, she set her briefcase by her bed and stood a moment in her little home; with no wall separating her bed from her kitchen and living area, she was nigh on certain she’d never have guests here. As she stood, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hung by her bedside; how different she was here as well. The bright yellow and blue pattern she’d chosen had screamed out at her from the mannequin“choose me, choose me-no one will ever recognize you in this!” whether this would prove true or not remained to be seen, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.

“ _No one needs to know who you are, here_ ” she shook her head, “ _no, who you were_.” She gave a reassuring nod to herself before shedding her dress, changing into a nightgown, and crawling into her bed. “ _Nobody needs to know_ ,” were the last words she whispered to herself, before she fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agneta has her first run in with the unsavory side of Gotham.

This job, she had learned, was nothing to underestimate. A city rich with criminals, true villains, meant countless victims and would-be detectives coming out of the woodwork, with a dozen descriptions for a single felony. Despite conflicting reports from almost everyone who came in, Agneta had an ear, a sense for who was being truthful; in broad terms, it was usually those most unwilling to offer their information. She could see it in their faces, in the way they clutched their purses and adjusted their ties, who was really fearful. Despite this, she knew which questions coaxed the details she needed from them.

“I know how awful this must feel… I’ve been where you are,” she spoke gently to the women who came to her desk, shaking hands and tearful eyes. “are those bruises from him?”

“Y-yes… I was so frightened, that big brute’s face looking down at m-me…” her current charge wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I tried to push him away but he was like a solid wall.”

Agneta nodded along, her eyes not leaving the victim as her hand danced across her sketchpad; in these questions she hoped she offered some semblance of closure I’m exchange for their testimonies. Thankfully, her sketches had helped lead the GCPD to the perpetrators quite a few times, in her short weeks there. “ _It’s something_ ,” she thought to herself, as her sketches made live were lead to the holding cells in cuffs “ _it’s something I can do_.”

In her fourth week there, she was shifting nervously in her seat, in front of Captain Essen’s desk. Essen sat on the opposite side, quietly reviewing her performance. Monthly inspections had been part of the deal, but they made her no less anxious. She tugged at the hem of her blush pink skirt, just covering the charcoal stockings that covered her legs.

Essen cleared her throat, and she snapped to attention. “Well Haven, seems like you’ve been doing good work so far… to call you diligent would be putting it lightly,” the captain gestured to the stack of police sketches next to her, all done under Agneta’s hand. She allowed herself half a smile and a small swell of hope as Essen continued. “you seem to be getting along well with your colleagues; honestly, this placement is going better than I could have hoped.”

Agneta’s face broke out in a grin, her muscles relaxing. “Thank you Captain, I am so glad you’re pleased with my work so far! I am intent to do all I can to help the GC–”

Essen held up a hand for her to stop. “That being said, there are things still to be discussed, as per your contract with us.” The artist’s shoulders fell as she looked down at her hands. She knew the questions coming.

“Have you had any relapses?” Agneta swallowed and shook her head.

“No.”

“Have you been cautious, not putting yourself in high risk situations?”

“No.”

“Have you been going to your meetings at Arkham?”

That question stung deep. That she had been forced to dedicate a portion of each weekend travelling up to the asylum was humiliating, infuriating; but the psychiatrist there was the only one in the city that her original therapist would entrust her to.

She sighed. “Yes,” her fingers fumbled with themselves “every Saturday, 3 o'clock in the afternoon.”

Essen nodded, shifting in her own seat; these questions were no thrill for her either. “And lastly, the usual; should someone come through with a description of someone you knew… would you still be loyal to the department? You wouldn’t fudge the information?”

Agneta looked the captain square in the eye; this answer she knew well. “I will always do all I can to help apprehend the criminals in this city,” she nodded “no matter who they might be.” This answer seemed to satisfy Captain Essen. A few signatures and pleasantries later, Agneta was allowed to step out of her boss’s office, murmuring a thank you to her as she left. As she walked back to her desk, she could already see a young man sitting in her interview seat, two officers accompanying him. She smiled to herself “Something I can do.”

As she made her way home that night, long after the streetlights had switched on, she gazed at the night sky above here; it was so different, so dark from the last sky you’d known. The light pollution and constant clouds masked the stars but for a few; none of which she knew by name. In her haze, she didn’t notice the men who had started following her.

“HEY, sweetheart!” She jolted around, seeing 3 meaty male figures encircle her. The seeming ringleader, a thick, greasy looking thing with uneven teeth, grinned at her with sweaty lips. “Whatcha doin’ out all alone tonight? Don’t cha know this city is dangerous for little ladies like you?” His lackeys laughed at his non-joke, one grabbing Agneta’s arm roughly.

“P-please,” she breathed, her hand twitching under the tight grasp. “I don’t want any trouble… just let me on my way, nothing will happen, I-I won’t say anything…” The men laughed at her, her bargain ignored.

“Oh something’s gonna happen girlie; gonna happen a few times!” The man in front of her cackled as he reached out the wrap a meaty hand around her other arm–her nails sunk into his flesh before he got the chance.

“You had your chance.” A voice colder than the one she spoke in left her mouth, as she threw her head back to bring it forward, knocking into the man’s skull as hard as she could her eyes gleamed as he recoiled, she elbowed the man on her left hard and fast in his face, hearing a crack as it collided. Turning her attention to the man who held her arm, she swooped her hand, grasping the man’s jacket as she tripped him over her leg as she used all her force to crash his head into the tarnished concrete.

“You bitch…” The leader had regained some of his composure, a little trickle of blood ran from his arm as he clutched his forehead. He lunged for her, as her pointed heel made contact with his cheek. He groaned and sloped downward to meet her fist, coming in perfect alignment with his jaw as she sent him flat on his back. She stood there a moment, breathless, gazing down at the scene in her wake.

“Oh no,” she whimpered, her hands finding her cheeks “oh no, no…” her words were erratic as her eyes darted between the blood before her; it seeped from noses, an arm, a mouth. The blood, in what small doses it was there, felt to her like an endless ocean. Leagues of it, red, rich and hot; it colored her vision, it heated her skin… she hadn’t felt such a heat in years. On winged feet she flew home, locking herself away, still gasping for air. She felt a need stir in her, one she was sure she had locked away as well; yet here it was still, waking and growling in her core. She threw off her overcoat and peeled off her dress, desperate to cool this heat; but to no avail.

“Stop, please stop…” she begged herself, clutching at her hair, pacing in her tiny home. “I can’t, I can’t…it will be different here.” The need was awake now, and screaming in her. Blood, blood, blood it called. It wanted more, more than she could give it, more than she could ever supply. Desperate for anything, some break in this feeling, she crawled to her bed, stripping herself of her lacy bra, rolling onto her back, sweat beading on her body. With trembling hands, she wound her fingers up between her bosom, cradling her supple skin before massaging and palming the warm pink buds which capped her creamy breasts. Already hard and aching, she cried out as her fingers, seemingly under a will not her own, pinched and twisted at her nipples hard; the beast inside her seemed to purr, opening itself up to the deal these actions offered. Feeling a small subside from the heat, her hands found their way downward, deep in the cleft between her legs, hurriedly shoving away her now ruined, drenched panties.

She sank two digits deep within her folds, as deep as her position allowed, as the other hurriedly mashed against the pearl of nerves nestled at the edge of her mound. Now she cried out with the beast, her in invocation, it in reward; her fingers were sloppy and fervent in their persistence, delving deep in and out of her pink center, aching for the fire in her to be extinguished, the beast to be calmed. Her second hand worked as diligently, scooping and kneading her little gem, it’s hood now pulled back plating right against the nerves. Her breathes were ragged, pulled from her by need and desperation, moaning out incomprehensible sounds; no words were to be found in these moments. She found her hips bucking under her greedy hands, the organ she stimulated just as eager for release as the hands that sought it. Her slender fingers curved within her, just brushing the angelic spot hidden in her sinful body; a brush was more than enough for the beast in the ages since it had last been fed this pleasure. Her ears heard her rushing blood as thunder and her eyes flashed lightning as her hungry hands finally claimed what they had hunted for; bolts of electricity filled her muscles as her orgasm shook her, her velvet walls caving around her fingers as they slowed, allowing her to accept the waves of pleasure falling over her, over and over. In what felt like hours, she pulled her hands away from her sex. Her body had cooled, her heart rate had slowed. In finally feeling secure in her safety from the firey beast in her, her damp hands came to cover her face as tears rolled down her cheeks, her heart gripped in despair. The demon she thought she had overcome and done away with had not left; it had been waiting, growing impatient. She knew now that she had extra effort to extol, to be certain not to spill a drop more blood; as her eyes cried freely, she promised herself again, prayed to some unknown god, what she had said from the beginning:

“ _It will be different here._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture says a thousand words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer everybody :D

To say Agneta felt downtrodden would be to say the least. It had been days since her scuffle with those petty thugs, and every inch of her felt dirty. She had scrubbed her skin red once her legs had regained feeling, but in her heart she knew this filth was far past skin deep; a filth that some part of her reveled in, that felt so good the more she dwelled on it. Her mind had been in a haze since; her work had faltered slightly, becoming nearly mechanical in her sketches. She couldn’t deny that any man she drew bore similarities to the men who had assaulted her; it only added to her shame. She tried desperately to shake it, trying to maintain her life as mundane as possible; wake, do good work, go home. She was in the midst of this routine when a hand caught her elbow; the first contact she’d had since the encounter. She jolted, suddenly aware of her surroundings; she was holding a coffeepot poised over her mug, surrounded by the buzz of the precinct. She turned her head to see the hand on her arm was connected to Jim Gordon, his cool doe eyes looking expectantly.

“You alright, Miss Haven? Been calling your name a few minutes,” He pulled his hand back, letting it rest against his side; in his other hand was a thin, dog eared file.

Her cheeks pinked lightly, resting the coffee pot back in its place. “Sorry Jim, was just… in my own little world,” Agneta gripped her cup with a funny little expression, nearly a smile, on her mouth. “Can I do something for you?”

He looked uncomfortable; shifting his head from side to side. “Look,” he said quietly “Essen told me… who you were,” her hands nearly dropped the cup as her eyes widened. She was frozen in place, gawking at this detective who knew her secret.

“J-Jim I… I swear I’m not that person anymore…sh-she’s dead, gone; I left her in prison-p-please don’t-I–”

“N-now it’s alright Miss Haven,” he waved a hand hurriedly, attempting to dull her panic. “She’s been happy with your reviews, and your work here has been excellent. As far as I’m concerned you’re a regular functioning part of the GCPD,” he gave her a lopsided grin as her face relaxed a bit. “What I wanted to ask was… well in your previous life, you were… infamous to say the least.” Her eyes fell to ground; a pain jolted in her, shame of the life she’d led; of the person she was trying not to be. He understood this discomfort, patting her shoulder awkwardly. For his gruff exterior he could be gentle, she mused. “I understand you were mostly active throughout the south, but… the incidents that brought you here happened 10 years ago-in Florida?”

Agneta’s face flushed. She had spent a huge part of her time forcing herself not to think of her time there. “Y-Yes.” She muttered, her eyes still on the floor, studying the patterns of the well trod wood.

“I don’t want to make this any harder, so… here,” He took the folder from under his arm and flipped it open. “What I want to know is, do you recognize this man?”

He was beautiful. He’d aged some, but his skin was still perfect, taut against his skull. Years had sunk his eyes, but only slightly; they were still the near black she’d known so well. His dress hadn’t changed much, still done to the nines in blacks and plums. From the blurred photo she could make out the glint of gunmetal under his jacket. Memories she had repressed flooded into her; a sadness and longing filled her chest; anger, betrayal and bitterness crowded her mind. She looked square at Jim Gordon, remembering the words she’d sworn to Captain Essen only a week ago, ‘ _I will do all I can to help the GCPD_ ’. She took a breath.

“I’ve never seen him before.” She could hardly believe the words had left her mouth, as Jim grimaced slightly, snapping the folder shut. “Well thanks anyway.” Curtly, he turned to leave. “Wait!” This time she caught his wrist, his eye on her suspiciously. “Wh..who is he? Is he dangerous?” Agneta swallowed. She hoped her interest didn’t betray her lie; she needed him to say it, that it wasn't just a coincidence.

Jim glanced down at the folder, then back at her. “He’s a hitman; he’s got business with the Pengu–er Oswald Cobblepot,” he replied. “You ever see him in a dark alley, you run as fast as your legs can carry you.”

She released his arm and he went on his way. Stood there, lightheaded to say the least, she stared down at her empty mug; white porcelain looked back at her, blank and unyielding. “Victor.” She mouthed, her eyes closing.

The remainder of her day, Agneta worked with newfound fervor. Her sketches were practically photographic, fast but perfect; she listened and comforted her visitors, though her mind lay elsewhere. ‘ _Cobblepot, Cobblepot… where have I heard that name before?_ ’ She would think to herself, raising a new pencil to pad. She dared not press Jim any further; her lie, she believed, had worked. In her time in prison, in therapy, she had never spoke his name; she had held it in her mind, her secret, a prayer, a promise. To what, changed almost constantly. She grit her teeth and ground through her day; finally leaving the station by dusk. Her walk home swirled with thoughts, emotions grappling with logic, so much so that she nearly walked by the name that was on the tip of her tongue all day. She snatched the flier from street lamp pole, reading it over and over again:

**“THE HOTTEST NEW CLUB IN GOTHAM: OSWALD COBBLEPOT INVITES YOU TO THE BRAND NEW OSWALD’S NIGHTCLUB”**

She stood there for a long while as the lamp above her flickered on. Shaking from her trance as she stuffed the flier into her purse, she took off from her spot–she had somewhere to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agneta goes hunting for a piece of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you guys are enjoying so far!

Agneta stared at herself in the mirror; it was the first time she had gathered the nerve to lay eyes on her naked form in years. She gulped, running her hands over her body; long, symmetrical scars ran from her ribcage, down, splitting at her hips, flowing down around her sex, then sweeping up and around the curve of her ass, matching swirls sitting just under her back dimples. These lines were everywhere, but these were the last ones he’d carved; she shuddered, remembering how she had bled, how he had grinned over her. Even now she frowned at her reflection, seeing her skin redden with excitement; her cheeks, chest, and lower lips practically glowed.

She shook her head rapidly; tonight she would go hunting for him-but she had to look the part. From her closet she drew one of the only garments she had kept from her time before treatment. Black with metallic marbling, it boasted bare arms and legs, parts she never showed anymore; they too wore long, matching scars from him.

‘ _He’ll see them tonight,_ ’ she told herself ‘ _he’ll see and he’ll pay_.’ She wound her hair up on top of her head, securing it in place-a light touch of kohl at her eyes and wine on her lips, she stepped back and saw who she once was. The darkness wrapped her body in a familiar feeling, as she tugged on a pair of heels. Her face twitched in frustration as she stood straight. 

"Hello, old friend,” she murmurred. She took up her coat and locked her door, setting out for the nightclub.

 

Finally past the bouncer, Agneta left her things with a coat check attendant as she entered the booming main room; apparently it was alt rock night. Her fellow patrons were clad in leather, dark denim; a handful wearing black cocktail attire. The floor pulsated with the sounds of the cover band on stage, the singer roaring into the microphone. Feeling out of place a moment, Agneta straightened herself and tilted her head down, trying to accomplish the sultry sway she had mastered in her last life. She was rusty. Wandering up to the bar, she was unsure of what to order; the girl opposite gave her an exasperated look as she requested a club soda with lime-her skin flushed with unnecessary embarrassment. As she sipped at the icy beverage her eyes flew around the crowded room; shaved heads, plenty, but nothing in the smooth, near white skin you knew. Her hand wet from the glass, she brushed a hair past her ear; what was she doing here? What could she possibly do when she had him face to face? Her mind darted back to the last words she spoke to him.

_“Victor, please!” Her past self shrieked, a bloody hand outstretched. “Victor, hit me… hit me please!” Her hand flew up to her shoulder, feeling a knotted, hard scar underneath her dress; this one was not by his hand, but it had ended everything. “Victor, Victor… please..”_

her pleading voice dulled in her brain as she admonished herself for even thinking of that moment. ' _Why am I here?_ ’ She went to sip her glass, only to find she had drained it. In that moment she heard the band striking up an all too familiar song; one she’d shared with Victor many times over. ' _Screw it,_ ’ she thumped her glass back down on the bar, licked her lips and took to the dance floor, letting the music and rhythm seep into her body, her body moving with the sea of people around her; she found she could always lose herself in this song, whether he was by her side or not.

With her hands to the ceiling and her eyes shut to the mob around her, she never saw the black eyes following her every move, her arms curving and twisting to the sting of guitar and pounding of the drums. Leather gloved hands gripped the railing of the secluded section that hovered above the masses; she didn’t belong down there, he scowled. Even in the dim lights, he could make out the silvery lines of the scars that graced her arms; scars he had left everywhere. The scowl turned to a sly smirk, remembering how each cut had looked when open. She was beautiful in red; he wagered she still was. His boss was giving him some new directions from behind; but he had muted him from his attention; all he could hear was the song, all he could see was her. He mouthed the words of the chorus of the song, his tongue darting along his lips.

“I want to fucking tear you apart.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agneta finds herself with a knight in a dark alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there, ya'll ;) did you guys see the premiere!? Fab but sad no Zsasz :c

Heels dangled from her hands as she padded her way home; her time at the club had been frustrating, and ultimately disappointing. She undid her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders; she held her coat together tighter, again shamed by the scars her body bore, as she felt more often than not. The lust she felt staring at them earlier that evening had been false, she told herself. A flicker of a memory, of a toxic love she’d thought was real, too.

"What the hell are you thinking, Agneta,“ her eyes found their way up to a starless sky. "You know you ended up here because of him. Because he wouldn’t…” her words trailed, as she took a turn closer to her home. As she felt hands grip her arms and pull her back, she felt her heart skip, hoping it was him; only to find herself face to face with bruised eyes, crooked teeth and greasy skin.

"Remember me you little cunt?“ The lump of a man snarled; she saw the glint of a knife in his hand. His lackeys were far more prepared this time; their combined strength held her arms while a filthy hand covered her mouth. She cursed herself for having took off her heels, now in a heap near the head of the alley. The stink of trash, sweat and anger filled the air as he glowered over her.

"You think you can fuck with me and my boys? Fuckin’ bitch,” he leant in close to her and she could smell the liquor and smoke on his breath. “You’re gonna play nice this time, you whore, and after,” he tore open her coat “you’re gonna thank me.” Agneta’s eyes darted around the alleyway, only to find nothing useful near her. His lackeys chuckled as they watched their boss tear a slice down her skirt, the knife tearing at the flesh underneath. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to keep herself from vomiting; this forceful spilling of her blood was so ugly, so wrong; she couldn’t bear to look at it. The men snickered at her bare flesh as the brute in front of her tugged at her panties with the blade of his knife, the thin material coming apart and falling away. All she could do was squeeze her legs together as tightly as possible; she wouldn’t make this easy. The lump lashed a hand out and smacked her face, hard; she tasted blood against her teeth, gasping for a breath.

“You fucking slut, when I’m done with you you’ll be beggi–” His words were cut short as she felt a hot spray across her face. Her eyes opened to see the body of the man, now a lifeless mass on the ground, blood and viscera seeping from a gaping hole in his head. Two sharp stings rang out and the arms that held her back released; his lackeys’ heads now matched their leader. Her feet felt the warmth of their blood pooling round her feet, as she gasped for air, looking around her for an answer; to find it standing at the head of the alley.

In the light behind him, he was silhouetted black. His tall narrow figure was crisp and clean, standing stark still, his silenced pistol still in his hand. His bald head tilted back, and she could almost see his lips form a smile. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape; in the first time seeing him in so many years, she had no words to speak; but he was glad to fill the silence.

"Heathen.“ He murmured; how long had it been since he spoke that name? He took a step forward, and she ran for the end of the alley. "Oh, cupcake,” he grinned, choosing not to pursue. “I’ll see you real soon.”

Her chest heaving for air, Agneta’s palms were slick with sweat as she juggled her keys, fingers shaking to get the locks open. She knew how he loved a chase, and she had done all she could to take the most winding route home – she hoped it might throw him off. As the locks finally clicked, she threw open her door, collapsing inside in a heap. She stuck out her leg to shut herself off, her arms curving tightly around herself as she shook with sobs. The bravery - or was it recklessness - that had lead her to Oswald’s earlier that evening was gone. Her mind reeled, recounting the events of the night. ‘Was he there?’ She imagined him seeing her through the crowd, black pupils narrowing in on her; it thrilled as much as haunted her to think of. ' _He took out those men for me…or were they just in the wrong territory at the wrong time?_ ’ Still she shivered on the cold linoleum under her, her legs unable to find the strength to lift her. The most frightening thought screamed in her mind, the forefront of the onslaught: if that gang had not been there, would he have tried to do the same himself? Her hand clapped over her mouth as her mind followed up with, ' _Would I have let him?_ ’

She mustered what she had to lift herself to a standing position; her fingers engaging the locks from the inside. If he was coming, she wasn’t about to make it a cakewalk. Walking in a trance, she stripped herself of the now ruined garment on her body, shoving it into the wastebin by the door. She felt a faint tinge of mourning as it fell; it was one of the last items she’d kept from before.

She pushed it from her mind as she stepped into the miniscule little bathroom with the standing shower, unfixing her bra from its place as she stepped in. The water was scalding as she turned on the tap, and it soothed the cold fear that enveloped her skin. It fell across her face as she smoothed her hands over her dampening hair, the weight of the water pulling her mane to its full length. She winced, looking down at the cut on her hip where the oaf had been careless with his knife; the cut was shallow, but it intersected with her scars. She grimaced, annoyed the the current break in her perfect line. She doubted this cut would leave a mark, but she would need to deal with its presence for some weeks. The shower rinsed the excess blood from the surrounding area, pooling in a pale pink river at her feet before circling down the drain, gone for good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor goes to see his Heathen.

Agneta yawned wide at the precinct; she hadn’t been sleeping. The last 3 nights she’d been sitting up in bed, constantly preparing herself for an intrusion she was certain was coming; but he never did. Why did she find herself despondent each dawn, when she had made it through the darkness without a visit? She screwed up her mouth in an unhappy purse of her lips, pouring dark caffeine into her waiting mug; it was her third trip to the pot that morning.

“Miss Haven!”

She jumped as a roughed looking Bullock saddled up beside her, looking in need of the full pot of coffee.

“Oh, detective Bullock! How are you?” She gave him her sweetest smile. If she behaved plainly, eventually she would become so, she assured herself.

He grunted slightly. “Pretty drained, to say the least. Jim and I have been getting the run around from Penguin lately,” he practically spat the name “Went over to his place just yesterday and wound up looking down the barrel of Zsasz’s gun.”

A chill ran through her, hearing his name. Sill violent as ever, she pondered. It was in that moment she realized how carefully Bullock was watching her face. 'Shit,’ she cursed 'Jim didn’t buy it.’ Her face hadn’t altered but she wondered if he could see the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight.

“That’s awful!"she exclaimed, a hand flying to the detective’s arm, imbued with comfort. "I’m so glad you’re alright. How terrible that must’ve felt, staring down some monster’s shot,” her eyes fell to the ground momentarily before flitting back up; fluttering her lashes so slightly. “Though I’m sure you’re sadly used to it.”

Bullock cleared his throat, placing his hands on his hips. His prompting had yielded no reaction; that was best, he surmised. “Almost every day, sweetheart. But its uh, part of the job.” He gave a little nod, the brim of his hat dipping over his eyes.

“Well I don’t envy you your position Harvey, but I don’t appreciate your sacrifice any less,” pull it back Aggie, she mused. You’re laying it on a bit thick. Speaking lowly, she took a closer step to Bullock, glancing around.

“Harvey, given your partnership with Jim, I’m sure he’s made you aware of… the terms if my employment.” She bit her lip a moment before she continued. “I want to assure you as I did Jim, I will do all I can to help the GCPD; at least as much as I’m allowed to.”

The answer seemed to satisfy him; he was far less untrusting than his partner. He bid her good bye as he was distracted by a loud ringing on his desk. She breathed, feeling slightly more secure in her placement here.

Only 2 locks? He made note of them, letting himself in; she’s went and got lazy. It was his third visit in as many weeks, since he had laid eyes on her in the club, in the alley. It hadn’t taken much to find her small and cramped apartment; a call or two, a twisted arm.

‘This doesn’t suit her,’ he frowned at the singular room, a plain screen all that fenced the bed from the public area. ’She’d be so much happier with me.’ He bit his lip lightly, thinking of the rooms they’d shared in their time together. Clean, lavish and open–tainted and debauched by the time they’d left. He slipped behind the screen, knowing in the midst of day, he wouldn’t find her there; but it didn’t help the pang of disappointment to find the small mattress empty. He removed a single glove and ran his naked hand over the blanket. “Cheap.” He chided, his lip curling in distaste. ’I could keep her warmer,’ he lifted the pillow from its place and inhaled deeply; the years had not changed her scent. Even faint, it was warm, the delicious combination of sweat, skin, the hint of perfume; something else too, a heady aroma that he couldn’t quite name. Breathing out, he set the pillow back in its place, smoothing out the creases he’d caused; there was no reason for her to know he’d been there–yet. He wandered to her closet, eyes suddenly struck by an unexpected display of colors; this had changed. He thumbed through her dresses, each one more chipper and friendly than the last.

 

“She can look as different as she likes, I know who she is,” he muttered, just as his breath fell still, coming to the final item hanging in the closet. A mauve, silk scarf hung on a hook; he removed it, gliding it over his hands. This too he brought to his face, breathing her in; the perfume was stronger here, she wore it regularly. “It’s freezing,” he repeated the words he’d spoke when he first wrapped the item round her neck “It’d be stupid of you to die of cold, sweetheart.”

 

His cell phone rang out in the silent moment he enjoyed; groaning, he answered. “Yeah boss?” He hung the scarf back on its hook, tugging his glove back on with his teeth. “Uh huh… nothing, just out.” He glanced back at the bed another moment, promising himself the next time he laid eyes on it, her figure would be there. “Yep…can do…” he rolled his big dark eyes, pausing to grab an apple from a bowl in the miniscule kitchenette. “Calm down boss… I’ll get right to it.” He flipped his device closed and sank his perfect teeth into the flesh of the apple; work was calling, but all he could think about was play. The door clicked behind him, as the scarf fell from its place, and out from the now open closet door.

He’s been here.

It was all that ran through her head, her vision locked onto heap of dark silk that peeked out of her closet. She had looped it around its hook securely, still treating it previously, wearing it regularly. It was around her neck whenever she felt most alone; when she needed another’s strength alongside her own. She retrieved the scarf gingerly, the cool fabric smooth against her fingers. The fact that it was cold was somewhat reassuring; he had been gone long enough for the garment to lose his heat. She squeezed it tight in her hands, winding the material around one fist, pulling it tight between her grasp. She took a sharp gasp of air before carefully looping it back round it’s hook, secure and safe. Shutting the door on it, she stood in the silence of her apartment, so empty but thick with tension.

She fell asleep on her sofa that night, a book laid open against her chest. It rose and fell with her deep breathing as he towered over her, twitching to touch her. The years had been remarkably kind to her; her skin still soft and inviting, her lips still perfect. Her hair was much longer than when he had seen her last, and he craved nothing more to grip it in his fists, hoist her up and reclaim that sweet mouth he had missed so long. He forced himself with all his might not to, settling for gazing at her slumbering form. She had wrapped herself in a tshirt 3 sizes too large for her, but with her knees tilted up towards her ceiling, it had rode up just enough for him to steal a glimpse of her snow white panties. He shifted silently, his want pressing urgently against the front of his crisp pants. His eyes wandered downwards, grinning at the creamy white scars that decorated her thighs. His handiwork held up well, as he was certain his favourite scars that marked the path to her ever alluring sex were still there, still his guide. His eyes flickered back up to the book on her chest, reading the title:

‘Life After Prison: Managing Growth, Moving Forward and Rejoining Society’

His lips curled back in disdain. She doesn’t need this, she was perfect as she was; rage replaced wanton need, now hating her changes. He long to return her to the woman he had molded, taught, and craved. His fists curled firmly, the sound of tightening leather filling the room; her body shifted under his eyes as her lips parted slightly, uttering a single sound in her sleep.

“Victor.”

He near on tumbled backward, hearing his name on her lips after so long. He had heard that same breathy whisper many times before, murmured into his ear while her arms pulled him in close, from underneath him, buried into a nest of pillows and sweat. It was glorious, like a song from her lips. He ached to know where her mind was to speak his name, wondering if it was a memory, or a whole new dream that had sparked it. She shifted again, taking his cue to leave; it wasn’t time for them to meet, no, not yet. On silent steps he found his way out of her home; the next time, he thought to himself, we will speak.


	8. Chapter 8

Agneta’s foot bobbed against the poured cement floor; the standard issue metal chair cold underneath her. She was sat in a circle with other ‘reformed’ criminals; ever vigilant not to miss her Saturday therapy sessions, she told herself they still helped. This week she noticed that numbers had dwindled some; only a handful of her usual therapy mates had showed up. This meant the Doctor had more time to focus on her; something she was by no means thrilled with this week.

“Agneta?” the young, gentle faced doctor called out. She raised her eyes to meet the specialist’s open, friendly face. “How would you say time in Gotham has been?”

_‘Oh, you know; the man who left me for prison came back into my life and intervened on my possibly being raped,’_ She mused _‘And lets not forget my getting off on the sight of a few drops of blood; I’m peachy.’_

“I’ve been doing well, Dr. Thompkins” She smiled at her judicially appointed therapist, who marked something down on her clipboard. “My new job is letting me use my talents for an honest living, and its more than I could ever ask for.” Again, Thompkins scratched down a few notes.

“That’s wonderful to hear Agneta. Have you been working on building new, healthy relationships?”

Agneta tilted her head away from the doctor, her hand reaching up to twist a wayward lock of hair. “I-I have, but its slow going… its hard to really let people in after everything,” she raised her head once more, a pursed smile on her lips. “I am encouraging people to call me Aggie though; I read in that book you gave me, how associating yourself with a new title can help to break ties with the old.”

For this, Dr. Thompkins gave her a genuine smile. “I’m happy to hear you’ve been doing the required reading. Would you prefer it if we were all to call you Aggie from here on?” Her pencil was poised above her page for Agneta’s answer.

“…yes, I think that’s okay. I think I’d like that.” She tried to mimic the doctor’s smile back at her.

“We’ll be doing that from now on, Aggie.”

As the clock bolted and fenced to the wall ticked past 6 o’clock, Agneta was just slipping her arms into her coat. She glanced out of the high windows, seeing that the sky had already gone dark. For all the time she had spent behind bars and institutionalized, she hated these buildings most in the dark. As she buttoned her coat, Dr. Thompkins came up behind her, as if she could sense her apprehension.

“Agne–Aggie, would you like to walk out together? I always get a bit nervous here at night.” She sighed, grateful that the Doctor felt the same; or at least, had given her an excuse not to be alone.

“That’d be fine by me, Doctor. Us girls have to stick together!” The two women walked side by side, down the hallways of the asylum; Agneta felt some nervousness as they passed the entrance to the prisoners’ holding cells, which was multiplied when she heard a loud whooping from just inside the door, followed by raucous laughter at her jump.

“You little orderlies best be on your way!” A snide voice called out from the darkness. “Pretty little things can get awful ugly at night.”

Agneta had stopped, but Dr. Thompkins rested a reassuring hand on her wrist. “Good night, Jerome,” The Doctor said flatly “I’ll see you on Monday.”

The same voice cackled again. “See you then, Doc! And bring your friend, she’s a riot!” A flare of a long quieted rage swelled in Agneta, stepping towards the doorway with purpose – but she was pulled back by her therapist, who gave her a questioning look. Without another word the two continued on their way, their ears filled with the devilish laughter coming from the other side of the holding door.

‘ _Doctor Thompkins has been so kind to me_ ’ Agneta pondered, making her way up her now familiar steps. The good doctor had even offered her a lift home, rather than forcing her to rely on Gotham’s spotty public transit. _‘I should really be trying to share more with her… she’s here to help, right?_ ’ She contemplated telling her all about the run in with Victor, her actions against those men, the resulting incident; but she knew that she was then bound by law to inform the GCPD of her lie… that she could not afford to lose right now. She sighed, dragging tired feet into her apartment, letting her coat drop from her shoulders into a pile by the door; her stomach was aching for any bite of food, but all she had in her refrigerator was a bottle of milk. “Better than nothing,” she grumbled, leaning into the dim light of the appliance to reach the bottle.

 

“You changed your hair.”

Her back snapped straight; every follicle in her body raised as an ice cold fear raced through her veins. She swallowed, but her mouth had gone bone dry; her eyes were wide as saucers as her head turned slowly, seeing his unmistakable figure standing there, just behind her sofa. His head was cocked down, a hairless brow raised at her; his face gave no hint of emotion away, though his eyes seemed to glint in light that wasn’t there. She was wordless, studying his body there; his jacket neatly folded and laid across the back of her couch, but still dressed in the resplendent style he’d always had - but more worryingly, his twin pistols were still strapped to their side of his chest. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she formed a sound:

“Victor.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship was always volatile.

“You changed your hair.” He said again, this time taking a step towards her; instantly resulting in her stepping away, searching her counter top for some kind of weapon.

“W-Why are you here, Victor?” Agneta had hoped, in seeing him again, to be more confident; but found herself a stammering mess.

He gave her an incredulous look. “What, you come into my town and you think I won’t come see you?” he smirked, oh she hated it. “Geez, what did they do to that brain of yours?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly; was he here to find out if she’d talked? “If you’re here to extract information out of me, I have nothing for you,” she tried to summon the nerve to look him in the face, but came up short. “I haven’t spoke your name to anyone in the last decade.”

He pulled a sarcastic pout, gloved hands coming to his chest. “Sweet of you, to cover for me cupcake; but I would’ve thought you’d said my name once or twice in that time,” his step quickened, and he was barely a foot from her; she could smell the intoxicating mixture of cologne, sweat and blood that his body still emitted. “Maybe when you were alone… or in your sleep.”

She paused, her brow bending slightly. She thought of a dream she had had just a week ago; in it Victor had left her, again, as he did so often in her dreams. Had he been there? Worse, had she really called his name?

“And besides,” his shoulders rolled back, glancing out her window before fixing his eyes back to her “That’s not why I’m here.” The way he moved hadn’t changed; agile and quick as ever, he closed the gap between them, planting his hands against the counter space behind her. This close, her front pressed firm against his many buttoned vest, she felt dizzy; his scent was so familiar, so missed; but he wouldn’t be forgiven so easily. As he began to dip his head down towards her, a hand flew out and smacked his face; she was shocked to find the hand was hers.

His own hand went up to touch the now reddening cheek, his tongue running along the inside of his lip; a tinge of copper was on his taste buds. His eyes grew hard as they looked into her face, only to soften when he saw her eyes drilling right back into his; a fire behind them that he thought might’ve been extinguished - a fire he yearned to bathe in. Her brow was properly knit in anger now, her lips pursed, jaw set; this was the face of the woman he’d left behind.

“Heathen,” he breathed, that much more intent to join himself to her, but a firm hand was placed on his chest, pushing him away.

“I don’t go by that name,” she said coldly “That’s not who I am anymore. I left that monster in prison, where she belongs.” Her eyes were now fixed on his face, watching it fill with mixed emotions; disappointment, fury, frustration - and was that sadness she saw? If it was it flickered away as quickly as it had been there; he was angry.

“How dare you speak about her that way, then,” his voice was as hard as stone, teeth gritted, eyes never leaving her. “she was everything to me.”

“Is that right!?” Agneta now matched his anger “Everything to you? Is that why you left me bleeding in that square, screaming out for you?” She accompanied her last word with a shove; newfound but familiar strength had reached her arms. He stepped back at her push but was no less fervent.

“I didn’t have the shot; alright? The place was too crowded, the night was too dark - if I’d had it I would have gladly done it.” It stung her for a moment, but she knew there was some lie in it.

“YOU didn’t have the shot? Victor fucking Zsasz didn’t have the shot?” She allowed herself a bitter laugh, not believing her own ears.

“Yes, I, Victor fucking Zsasz, didn’t have the shot!” he stepped forward again, this time with rage underfoot. “You know how you never miss? You take the shots that you know you can hit.” The hiss in his last few words spat from between his teeth were infuriating. Agneta seethed there, staring into the face of a man she once worshiped, now heartbroken over the betrayal that had brought them to this point.

“Just… just get out.” She growled, turning on her heel to step towards her door; in that moment she felt long, nimble fingers curl around her wrist in a vice grip, pulling her back as her shorter frame slammed against her refrigerator. His second hand grasped her cheeks on either side, his chest heaving with angry breaths. He scaled her face with this gaze, searching for the fire he’d seen moments ago; he needed it to be there, for her to be there.

“…You’re Heathen,” His words were so quiet she barely heard them “Whether you like it or not sweetcheeks, you can’t just shut her out.” He bit down on his lip, nodding his head with his own affirmations. She glared up at him, her hands curling into fists.

“Like I said, Victor – you left Heathen in a pool of her own blood in that town square,” her voice rang like a steely bell in his ears “You should’ve taken the shot.” She gazed up at him, her face changing as she saw his mouth spread into a smile; blood now present on his teeth. ‘ _Oh no_ ’ her mind whimpered ‘ _No, not this–_ ’

He kissed her. Hungry lips fell to hers, and as she tasted his distinct, one of a kind metallic flavor on her mouth, she lost her control. Her mouth opened, accepting his sweet, domineering tongue inside, ferrying more of his delicious taste with it. Her hunger had been forgotten, no replaced with a very different craving, pooling between her legs. Victor smiled against these lips he’d once called his, home. ‘ _I knew you were still here_ ’ he congratulated himself, his tongue tangling with hers, knowing that she sought out every drop of him that she could find. He pressed himself against her with confidence, his hands relocating to her hips as he pulled her tight against him, grinding forward so she could feel his need for her pushing up against his trousers; only to be pushed away in that same action.

Kissing his teeth, he cocked his head to one side. “Too much?” His hand stroked her hip, hoping to feel the scars he laid there underneath her dress; but she caught his wrist, stopping his action. Fury was on her face again.

“That was a dirty trick, Victor,” she admonished him, despite the slickness she felt with each movement as she stepped away from him. “Using what you know I can’t control against me. That’s cheating."

He placed a hand on his chin in mock thought. “ ‘Something you can’t control’, was it? I thought you said that Heathen was dead and gone.” His still bloody lips curled into a smile; she might’ve fallen for it had she been looking his way. He took a step to stand behind her, choosing not to make full contact, only to take in her scent just inches from her neck. “Maybe she’d like to say hello to me again, hm?”

His ringtone again interrupted his moment, his head and eyes rolling back in annoyance. With a lightning fast hand he whipped open the device “ **WHAT?** ” he barked into the receiver. She allowed herself a small smile, knowing how tightly he was wound.

“Yeah boss… no, it’s fine, sorry,” He crossed the room to the couch, retrieving his coat, sliding one arm on, changing hands, and then the other. “A date, if you must know–”

“THIS WAS NO DATE!” Agneta was even surprised by the rage she heard in her shout.

Victor pulled a face at her, putting a finger to his lips before wiping away his blood. “Yeah was going pretty well… no its fine, I’ll see her again,” he shone a proper grin over to her, her blood boiling at his self assurances. “Alright…yep…okay I’ll get there shortly. Let you know when its done.” His device clicked closed, tucking it away and straightening out his jacket; he was nothing if not impeccably dressed.

“Get the hell out of my apartment,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her fingers clawing at the air. He raised his hands in surrender, stepping towards her door – but not before wrapping an arm around her waist, kissing her with surprising gentility on her cheek.

“Off to work sweetheart; I’ll see you soon.” With another sly grin he was gone, his smell still lingering in the air. Agneta dug her nails into her arms, shaking with madness and unwanted desire. Victor smiled to himself as he made his way down her stairwell, remembering particular words of hers.

‘ _That’s cheating_ ’ he repeated over again in his brain. _‘If I can cheat, then there must be a game’_ he told himself, stepping into the car he had waiting on the street. ‘ _And if there’s a game, I know I can win.'_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really interesting to try and write from the male perspective on this!

She was all he could think about; it was a problem. 

Work had been a goddamn hurricane lately; something Victor would normally welcome, for the opportunity to add new marks to his skin. But ever since Heathen had appeared back into his life, all it was was an annoying distraction. With each new cut he made, he thought of the cuts on her; with each step he took he felt further from her. Always something of a terror to work with, he’d been taking out his frustrations on his henchmen, for the sheer reason that they were not her.

No, when she had been by his side, work and play had been one and the same. Any spare moment he had went back to their many kills together, so often followed by the praising of each other’s bodies. He lost himself in the memories of her skill with a blade, her dancer like qualities as she would extract information, confessions, organs. She had been his pride and joy, showing her many techniques himself, always admiring when she put her creative take on them. He had once left her with a mark in a solitary room while finishing up another job; he’d returned to find she’d strung up his bowels like streamers around the room, all while keeping the man numbed and awake to see her good work. He had taken her right then and there, writhing in their victim’s blood, as the life left him. She was a true artist. 

 

His new boss was getting on his nerves. Carmine had always had an elegance about him that the little bird man just didn’t have. He hoped it was his relative inexperience that kept him from the same cool headed style; he wasn’t sure how long he could deal with his squawking.

“VICTOR! Are you even listening to me!?” The Penguin lived up to his name, flapping his arms like he thought he could fly. 

“Yeah, boss - I heard you,” his arms were crossed and his feet were up on the short table in front of him at the club. Oswald was going on about doing in one of the rival family’s businesses; no difficult task, but nothing Victor felt like dealing with. He yawned wide, and the little man practically shrieked.

“WHY AREN’T YOU TAKING SERIOUSLY!? This has to be done right! Are you even here!?” Oswald had hit the nail on the head. In his mind, Victor was in Miami, in the ritziest hotel in the city, his darling Heathen bouncing up and down on his length, wailing out his name. He could practically feel her skin in his hands as Oswald’s hand came up to smack the side of his head.

He looked at him incredulously, his nonexistent brows furrowed at his employer. “I said I heard you! Would you cool it?” he stood to his full height, towering over the narrow, tiny man. “I’ll go right now, get this handled.” 

He snapped his fingers and his lackeys followed him to his transport, sitting in the front seat while he took the back. He ground his teeth together, annoyed with his new boss, but even more so by the persistent hardness pressing against the leather of his pants. He did what he could to keep his mind on the hit, checking his pistols to verify their perfection he knew they were. Still she danced in his mind’s eye, bare, beaming, ready for his every whim and want. The teeth of his zipper practically bit into the underside of his throbbing cock; it was worse torture than he could inflict. He glanced to his underlings, then down to the watch on his left wrist; he had some time.

“Eyes front, ladies” he husked, dragging down his zipper to release the white hot organ within. He grasped himself hard in his fist, tugging with urgency, rapidly; this was less about pleasure and more business. He needed his head clear for his work. His hand worked against his thickness greedily, practically a diamond under his grip. His breath husked and grunted, keeping his eyes on the mirror that peered backward to him, watching his girls’ eyes – he’d make them regret it if they so much as glanced at him in this moment. His own beast inside, normally sated by the blood he spilled and lives he took, was roaring for something entirely different, it roared for live, pink flesh, blood spilled willingly, screams for him than in fear of him; his actions, deftly skilled at this from years of practice, only provided some solace; he needed her sweet, soft hands to truly achieve what he needed. 

“Keep those eyes on the road or I’ll pluck them out myself,” he snarled, though his underlings looks had not left the street. He grunted and growled, feeling himself growing closer to some small sense of relief, his hand working his hardness that much more wildly, stroking long and hard as he felt the levy in him snap, fall over the edge and his beast purr as his seed seeped out of him, covering the backs of the driver and passenger seats, divider between them; the last few pearls dribbling out onto his hand as he drained himself dry. He breathed deeply, regaining composure and wiping his hand off on the seat to his side; he had just tucked himself back into his pants as the car slowed, arriving at their warehouse destination. He cleared his throat, grunting out “lets go” to his minions. They followed him obediently, knowing well enough not to tease or question him; they were, after all, not his first girls. He lead the way to his next victims with a long, quick pace, pulling on his gloves, covering what traces of his activity were left there.


	11. Chapter 11

“She didn’t call you?” The guard at Arkham looked frazzled, to say the least, as he shifted through forms and names “Dr. Thompkins was called out of town unexpectedly; she should be back by next week.”

Agneta stood there, at the temporary patient entrance, feeling more than a little annoyed. She had decided that she would tell her specialist what had been happening; at least, a version of it. She had found a way to weave her goings on into a story, saying she was dreaming of a man she once knew, and to tell her what happened in those ‘dreams’ - she was desperate for a real insight into her next step. With work being fairly even lately, her life was becoming routine; including short glimpses of Victor, appearing and disappearing, keeping tabs on her goings on. She sighed, pulling up the collar of her coat, casting her eyes inward at the gen pop recreation room within; it hadn’t been so long since she had sat in a similar room, exhausted and strung out on sedatives…

“What’s the matter gorgeous! Gimme a smile, wontcha?” A familiar voice pulled her from her memory, and her eyes focused on a tall, ginger haired youth behind the bars. His handsome face held lifeless eyes and a wide grin as he stared back like a fox at a hen.

She knew that voice; it was the same that had frightened her two weeks prior, that which had laughed at her. She wasn’t about to go yelling through the hall at him, and didn’t feel much like hearing shouts and cries of dismay should she not do as he asked. Mustering up her nerve, she gave him the sweetest smile she could manage; even bothering to flutter her lashes oh slightly. He was clearly pleased as he whooped again, his paper white hands gripping the bars, laughing in that cold way she knew.

“What a set of teeth on you, dollface! Makes a man wish he had a set of pliers!” Her face did not lose the now frozen smile on it; she gave a quick nod to the boy before turning; there was no further purpose for her to be there, and with rain clouds forming, she hoped she could make it home before they burst. “That’s a smile I won’t forget!!” Were the last words she heard as the the doors shut behind her.

Luck was not on her side that day. She grumbled as she held her coat now above her head, her shoes, legs and skirt now soaked through by the rain. As per usual, the bus service was terrible out there; she had decided walking would be simpler as the first few drops fell. But what had begun as a drizzle had become a downpour, soaking everything, with rivers of rainwater sloping down the sides of the road. Her face was wet with splashes of raindrops, wondering if a bus would even drive by her as she saw a set of lights come up from behind. She turned, hopeful it might be a warm and ready bus, but instead found a black sports car puling up next to her. The window rolled down to reveal an grinning hairless skull, hands lazily draped on the wheel.

“Not the best night for a walk, cupcake.” She scowled at him; if she knew him at all, he’d been following her, waiting for the rain to really come down.

“I don’t know what you mean, its gorgeous out. You’ve grown spoiled, Victor.” She tried to maintain conviction as a cold wind blew past her legs, raising goose flesh all over her.

He raised his brow, smirking. “Oh yeah, regular tanning weather,” he reached over, engaging the door, pushing it open just a hair. “Get in.”

She stepped back, unsure of her choices. She was afraid of what he might do in such close quarters, afraid of what she might do as well. Still, a glance to the sky told her this torrent had no end in sight. Gritting her teeth, she removed her coat from overhead, pulled the door open and climbed in. Like the outside, the car sported a completely black leather interior; Agneta wondered if it had been custom made in his style. As she buckled in he pulled away from the side, rejoining the road for the winding mile it took to make it back to city streets. For the time being, it was him, her, silence and forest as they drove on, deliberately slow. She leaned her head against the window, watching water trickle down from the outside.

“So, how was the crazy doctor?” she glanced over at him, curling her lip at his snide comment.

“Cancelled. Out of town.”

“Awe, too bad. Ya wanna talk about all your feelings with me instead? I play a pretty good doctor.” She shivered, hoping he didn’t see it. She would hate for him to misconstrue her chilled skin for excitement. With no reply, he glanced over at her, longer than he had intended. His eyes wandered from the droplets of liquid formed on her legs, to the soaked skirt that clung to every curve and nook on her body; moving upwards, he admired how the safety belt split her breasts evenly, allowing the curve and swell of each one to stand on their own; still beautiful. His eyes moved further, to find an irritated face looking into his, her lips pursed.

“Eyes on the road.” He chuckled at her order, remembering his enjoyment in the backseat of the very car he was driving now, him saying those same words. ‘ _Nothing to share_ ,’ he thought to himself. ‘ _Not now_.’

He accelerated as they found their way to city streets, taking turns sharp so he could glance over and watch the bounce of her breast with the jerk of the car.

“No better a driver with 10 years to practice, I see,” She said, settling her hand on the dashboard for stability.

“I like a little speed in what I do, sweetpea; I thought you’d know that.”

“Right.”

“And how’s work? The boys in blue behaving?” He questioned, taking another turn.

“I don’t know if you’re the right person for me to be sharing information about my job with,” she knitted her brow in his direction “you are, y’know, an assassin for hire.”

“Then what are you doing there?” He grinned, teeth lit bright by the streetlamps overhead.

She rolled her eyes “I’m a police sketch artist. I make faces when there’s no one there to see,” her eyes fell on him again. “thought you might’ve remembered that.”

“Oh I do, cupcake,” he laughed low, deep; a rumble in his chest “Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll let you draw me like one of your french girls.” Agneta shot him a glare, but her interest couldn’t help but be piqued. She wondered what his skin looked like now; with 10 years worth of killing now on his hands, she guessed his body now to be covered in the crosshatched scars he made to keep count; but curiosity demanded to know the exact amount.

“D…do you still keep count?” She asked quietly, her eyes locked on the road ahead. Smirking, he took one hand off the wheel to roll up the sleeve of the extended arm; she looked to see so many new marks, some silver, white, pink, red, and not even scarred. He had been busy in his time outside.

“I showed you mine, you show me yours.” The car slowed to a stop as she realized they were in front of her building. She moved to open the door as Victor engaged the locks. She raised her shoulders up around herself, shying from his vision.

“Nothing new; nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see them,” He reached over to her, placing a hand midway up her thigh; just near enough that he could feel the ridge of one of his lines through his gloves. He released a broken sigh, his eyes closing. “These were some of my best work.” He chuckled as she slapped his hand away.

“Unlock the door Victor; I’m freezing. I just want to get inside,” she gave him her most serious look, but all he did was click his tongue and wa his finger at her.

“Ah ah ah. Kiss first, then we go inside.”

“How about you unlock the door and I go inside?”

“How about I carry you up to your door, keep you warm?”

“How about you don’t.”

He was growing restless.

“How about I throw you into the back seat and fuck you til you can’t remember your name?” her head snapped round to face him with those words; his eyes were darker than usual, practically black. His shoulders rose and fell with well timed but deep breaths; despite his words, he was restraining himself. She swallowed, hoping to make a compromise.

“D-Do you want to come up for some tea?”

“Love to.”


	12. Chapter 12

Agneta unlocked her door at a slow pace; she was in no hurry to be alone in the apartment with him. She twisted her keys, imagining he already had his own set. His black clad figure towered over her, his arm resting on her doorframe. “Think you could pick up the pace, sweetcheeks?” He raised his brow and widened his eyes at her, his mouth tight with impatience. She swallowed from her dry mouth, swinging the door open to her dark apartment. She switched the light on overhead, wanting no shadows for him to hide in. She wasn’t sure how that was going to help, but she felt some security in doing it. He strode in after her, his eyes not leaving her dampened body. She turned to speak to find him standing directly behind her, practically curving around her height. 

"Tea?“ He prompted, glancing at the kitchen then back at her. She gave a quick nod but proceeded to her bed. "Whoa, girl! A man likes a little romance before he dives into bed.” A cold chuckle left his lips at his own joke.

"I’m freezing, Victor. At least let me change into something dry.“ Agneta turned to her closet, opening it to withdraw the longest nightgown she had; high collared with long sleeves. It made her feel like a chaste little prude, which was just how she wanted to look right now. Glancing at him, finding his eyes watching her intently, she crawled onto her mattress and into the protective covering of her separation screen. She heard him kiss his teeth and murmur ‘no fun’ as she lifted her soaked dress over her head, quickly replacing it with the nightwear. Just as she was about to step off the bed she felt the uncomfortable squelch of her rain soaked panties. Watching the screen with a nervous heart, she rolled them down her legs, placing them neatly in with the dress, folding it around the undergarment; he didn’t need to see them and get any ideas. She dumped the discarded clothes into a hamper in a corner, rejoining him in the kitchenette.

"Wow,” he spoke with a dull tone. “Aren’t you looking… pious” he clasped his hands together on his last word, his eye raising to her ceiling. She pulled at the tight collar at her neck, eyes rolling. 

“Let’s just say I don’t quite trust my company.” She set a steel kettle on her stove, switching it on. She leaned up past him to retrieve two mugs, the only two mugs she kept, from a cupboard; the lean brought her nearly nose to nose with Victor, his eyes locked to her lips, his own sealed. Her cheeks flushed as she pulled away quickly, setting the mugs on her counter as she moved to retrieve a box of tea from atop her refrigerator. 

"Boxed tea? Really darling?“ He frowned, looking at the box she had withdrawn two teabags from. "What happened to your sense of taste?” She gave him a look, reaching for a box of sugar cubes she kept on the counter. She dropped two into one mug; none in the other. 

"A decade of prison slop will make you grateful anything better; it doesn’t need to be top shelf.“ She regarded him with an ice cold eye. She stood in her kitchen with the man who had caused her incarceration, whose face showed no sign of remorse or regret. This wasn’t the time to pose the question to him though; not when she was feeling so exposed, vulnerable. He stared back at her, his face unflinching as he studied the contours of her face, the thick, damp tendrils of her hair. The silence was broken by the whistling of her kettle; the contents bubbling hot. She turned the stove knob to off, picking up the kettle and pouring the hot liquid into the waiting mugs; pushing the sugarless one to Victor. He removed his gloves, sweeping up the cup and taking a swig. She closed her eyes, smiling to herself. 

"What?” He asked, slurping.

"You never wait for it to steep; you completely lose the flavor that way,“ she watched exasperated as he slurped down the scalding tea, emptying his mug. He gave a satisfactory gasp to punctuate his setting down the cup.

"Got another one in there?” He reached for the kettle, giving it a shake to find it near empty. She raised her own mug to her lips, sipping the now well bodied tea; sweet, as she liked it. She smiled and inhaled deeply. 

"Mmm… delicious.“ She opened her eyes to see him right in front of her, one hand resting on the counter behind her.

"Gimme.” He muttered, pulling the mug from her hands, taking a long sip. She scowled at him, snatching back her tea.

"I thought you didn’t like sugar in,“

"Never said that, sweetpea,” he shook his head “you were my sugar.”

His eyes fell on her as his hand trailed from her waist to hip. Her hands gripped her mug tightly; unsure of whether to set the mug aside or bring it crashing into the side of his head. Silence but for the pouring rain filled the room, her heart racing; he hadn’t moved his hand any further, but he hadn’t made to remove it either. 

"I’m… I’m making progress,“ she whispered, her eyes watching the swirling, steaming liquid in her mug, again feeling fear to look into his face. Scared of what she would see; of what he would see.

"Progress in what?” He scoffed, running his thumb lazily across her hip. The gown was long and obstructive, but thin. He could feel the bumps of a scar just slightly. “You’re trying to conform to this normalcy that was never made for you. You can act, and pretend, tell yourself you’re normal; but you never were,” His eyes are locked onto the lashes that are hiding her precious eyes from him. “You’re so much better than normal." 

Her eyes flitted up to him, seeing his face the picture of arousal. His lips, normally a staunch tone with the rest of his face, had pinked slightly, damp by his tongue darting out the wet them. His pupils encompassed the near entirety of his eyes, which held a glazed, hungry look in them. She was shocked he hadn’t just swallowed her whole.

"Normal is what works, Victor - normal doesn’t need to run, it doesn’t get shot at,” her eyes grew watery as she fought back the urge to let her tears fall. “Normal will keep me safe in a way you never could.”

Of all things, he rolled his eyes.

“You’re ruining a perfectly good date, cupcake.” He leaned his head into her ear, his lips just barely brushing it’s curve. “Dwelling on all this sadness really brings me down. These aren’t the type of tears I want to cause tonight.” His hand went up to get cheek, a thumb running just under her damp eyes. She resented her body betraying her with a tingle shooting to her core. “You go on about how awful the last ten years have been to you,” His tongue traced her ear now, breath hot and beckoning. “I can make you remember all the sweet, delicious memories before that. When we were a team.” Her eyes rolled back as he closed his lips around her lobe, suckling it so sweetly, teasing it with his tongue; it was a technique appreciated on every concentrated nerve in her body. “Heh, sweetheart… you want normal so bad; is it because you forgot how good strange can feel?”

He frowned as he felt pressure on his chest, pushing him away; Agneta has raised a foot and pushed back with all her strength.

“Just because you know my buttons doesn’t mean you can just have me,” she was determined in her mind against succumbing to him - even if her body felt differently “I have a perfect memory of how we were together; we were toxic to each other, we hurt each other–”

“But didn’t it hurt in the best way?” He threw her a wolfish grin, as he began to roll up his sleeves.

“W-what are you doing?” Her eyes watched as his arms uncovered, displaying his scars; she could almost remember helping to carve a few herself.

“You know sweetheart, most people spend prison keeping their strength up, you know, in case they need to beat the shit outta somebody” with a firm hand he pushed her foot from its place, back up against her once more. “I can tell you didn’t. You’ve lost some of your power,” deft hands reached under her, gripping her ass and lifting her up to a seat on the counter. “Not that I’m complaining. I’ve learned to appreciate some meat on a woman.” His hands had not left her backside, giving it a greedy squeeze.

She felt a sudden bolt of jealousy run through her, thinking of him spending his last 10 years with who knows who. She bit down on her lip, not hard enough to break, but enough for him to notice.

“What?” He prodded, his mouth against her ear once more.

“Just wondering how many women it took for you to appreciate ‘meat on their bones’,” she had turned her head from his actions, if anything giving him better access, but she couldn’t look at him.

He laughed, looking down at her with a half smile pulling at his lips. “Jealous?” She glanced at him, seeing her mask of willpower falter slightly, belaying the envy underneath. “Not to worry; haven’t made anyone scream my name,” he paused “Well, at least not in the way you did.”

She could hear the trace of a lie in what he said; she wondered if he’d really sated his hunger on murder alone for all that time. She turned her head to him slowly; he seemed disturbed to have been interrupted in his actions, but he waited for her to speak. 

“I can’t fall back into this,” his lips were close to hers now, waiting for her signal - this time, he wanted her to want it. “This mess, this… all this danger,” her body seemed to move of its own accord, placing a hand on his shoulder, the other in the crook of his neck; his pulse raced under her touch, his composure remarkable.

“Let me remind you I can keep you safe,” he grinned, his lips just ghosting hers. “I’ve made quite a name for myself in this town; everyone knows Victor Zsasz. And nobody crosses him,” When had his hand tangled in her hair? How long had the other been creeping up her thigh? “Come on, cupcake; let Heathen out to play. Get a little stranger…”

“Shut up.” Were her last words before she gave into temptation, crushing her lips to his. His hand’s grip on her hair tightened, holding her flush against him, his mouth open and welcoming of her soft little tongue. His met her own, dancing a familiar dance they’d done so many times over. He was astonished as he felt her body pressing tight against him, her nightgown riding up to her knees, a foot stroking the side of his leg - even more so as her hands snaked up his back, drawing him in as much as she could. He moved to pull away and her teeth caught his bottom lip, dragging across with a pleading whimper.

 

“Hot damn, Heathen, you’re one to talk with your buttons,” his teeth bared in a deviant smile “and here you are pressing all of mine.”

“My name isn’t Heathen,” she gulped, staring at Victor’s mouth. His lip twitched a moment before rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Agneta.” Blood rushed to her cheeks and sex, hearing her name on his lips. Even in the time they had been together he had rarely used her proper name. He looked down on her with a wistful want, knowing just as well as her how long it had been since he’d called her anything but sweet nothings.

“As sweet as your mouth is…There’s something else I want to taste,” his eyes flashed with cunning, as thunder roared outside; with a pop, the light overhead was dead, plunging them into total darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

He took full advantage of the pitch black surrounding them, crouching onto his knees; his large, expert hands slid up her legs, lifting her garment to her hips, exposing her pussy to his hungry mouth. In the dark she couldn’t see the grin on his face as he dove to her scent, eager for the taste that matched.

His tongue flattened against her sex, dragging it from her sweet, dripping entrance to the pink pearl he’d used to make her scream countless times over. He drew a delicious moan from her lips as he swirled around that precious clit, his hands digging into the flesh of her hips. He moaned against her, soft vibrations carried into her core from his voracious actions.

“Mm, what do you do to taste this good?” He wasn’t looking for an answer as he lapped at her opening, her nectar the most addictive thing he’d ever tasted.

She arched up into his ministrations, her hands reaching for him between her legs, pushing him flush against her. She hated how much she’d missed him like this; he knew her body like it was his own, exactly how to make her bend to his want and will; and this was one of his favourite ways to do it. She gasped and twitched, as he had moved a hand from her hip to slide a singular digit into her waiting pussy, and felt him smile against her as her private little cave clamped down on him.

“Hm… I knew it,” he purred against her, closing his lips around her bundle of nerves, suckling at it with practices perfection. “You’re as tight as ever, Agneta… melts my heart to feel it.”

“Ah… th-this doesn’t…oh god,” she lost her words as he slid another finger into her, giddy to taste her juices; but he had work to do first. His mouth and hand worked in concert with each other, reintroducing himself to her body, probing her as deep as he could reach; much further than she could on her own. “V-Victor, we’re not…oh fuck…”

“Ah ah ah, gotta buy me dinner first, sweetcheeks,” For the urgency and possessiveness she felt in his actions, there was a different ache-he was doing all he could to prove himself, force her to remember the ways only he could touch her. She nearly screamed as his fingers curled up to reach her hottest spot, guaranteed to bring him what he needed with a few strokes.

“Heh, you like that, darling?” He breathed against her, nipping his teeth lightly against her nub, delighted to see the way her body convulsed in result. “Good to see you can still handle a little pain… but let’s concern ourselves with the task at hand.” His tongue went wild on her sensitive little clit as his fingers curled, pressed firm against the sweet spot inside her; he’d cornered her release and there was nowhere for it to run. With each stroke, lick, it got closer, closer…

All she saw was white; white hot pleasure cascaded down onto her, pouring from her core to every inch of her body. Her ears registered a ravenous, pleasure-drunk voice calling out Victor; she realized it was her own. She near lost her body in convulsions, but for him holding her there, grounding her to earth. His movements slowed as she clamped down so tightly he thought his fingers might break. ‘Well worthwhile’ he grinned, finally removing his hand from her hole to lap at the sugar he’d earned. His lips pressed to her in a kiss, suckling out every drop that he could; delicious and sorely missed. The soft mewl that left her lips was all that brought him up from his nestled spot; he would gladly have spent the night there, ripping orgasms from her over and over until she lost all ability to speak. He stood back to his full height, stretching out his back.

“Yum,” he chuckled, slurping all remaining trace of her from his fingers. He adored the sight of her, her chest rising and falling rapidly for breath, her skin almost scarlet with heat and fulfillment. Her eyes clung to him, sweat on her brow matching the hot, wet mess between her legs.

“This…this changes nothing…” she formed her words slowly, regaining herself. “Things will be different here. I promised myself that.” He leaned into her, kissing her lips with a softness she didn’t recognize; his lips smooth and supple from their moist activities.

“Things will be different here. But you will be by my side,” he spoke, a hand against her face “Sooner or later, Agneta. But sooner, if possible. I’d love to taste you again.”

Her eyes fell to her bare bottom half; her vision adjusting to the light. Self consciousness filled her mind, hurriedly yanking down her garment; but not before his hand fell to her thigh, stroking one of his scars.

“Next time, I want to see these head to toe,” he growled, her hair standing on end.

“Next time?” He surprised her; he was not the type to wait. He took what he wanted.

“Baby steps, Agneta; I know you’re just aching for this,” his other hand grasped at the still insistent bulge just under his pants. “But I’m not giving it to you till you ask for it. Til you need it. I want you to beg.” Her face screwed up in anger. With a huff she pushed him from her, hopping from the counter.

“Lovely. Well tea is long gone. There’s the door.” She used her flattest tone, a single finger pointing to the exit. He shrugged his shoulders, picking up his gloves as he moved to leave.

“Not even a thank you? I heard you calling my name, sweetheart,” he gave her one last grin. “Next time you’ll scream it.”

With a slam she was sure meant to startle her, Agneta stood alone in the apartment, the scent of what had conspired filling the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things about to get crazy next time ;)


	14. Chapter 14

Agneta tossed and turned the remainder of that night, furious with herself. Despite all she had done to quell the demons in her, she knew what she was capable of. She could have cracked his skull as he’d dipped low against her, broken his fingers when his hands had gripped her tight; but she hadn’t. Her mind, now clear from the haze that he seemed to carry with him, berated her earlier actions. His hands, much to her dismay, still felt like home; they knew and anticipated her needs, seemingly before even she was aware of what that was. Her hands gripped her blanket against her chest, staring out into the darkness that surrounded her. A tiny part of her wondered if he had crept back in, if he was there, haunting her room the same way he did her mind.

She turned onto her side with a huff, her hand reaching out and resting on the bare bed space next to her. She remembered the last bed they’d shared, so much larger, softer, warmer. Her hand then had fell on his chest, rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep; but in that comatose state his hand still reached up and grasped hers there, a possessive action, but one she had loved so much. Would she still? Agneta’s eyes looked at her lone hand. She could have him again; she could have that life if she only told him so, said yes, and let go of all she’d done to make herself normal.

‘ _No_ ,’ she told herself, screwing her eyes shut tight _'I will not let go of all I’ve done for him. I’ve seen the worst because of him. I won’t reward him for that.’_ Her arms wrapped around her stomach as she curled into a ball under her blanket; she prayed she might find sleep, but she doubted it. Once he was in her head, he wasn’t about to leave.

“Miss Haven I don’t mean to intrude, but you haven’t really seemed yourself lately,” she was sat in Captain -no, commissioner - Essen’s office once more, at her fifth performance review. The past few days had been turbulent at the GCPD, but this had to be done either way. She knew the words the Commissioner had for her, but by no means did she want to hear them.

“I-I am sorry, Commissioner… I wish I had a reasonable excuse for it…” her hands danced in her lap with nervous energy, embarassment rising red across her cheeks.

“I just don’t understand what happened. You got off to such a wonderful start – but as of late you’re so distracted, you’re not putting as much into your job performance; what’s going on?” What could she say? She longed to come clean, tell her truth about Victor, admit to the delicious torment he was putting her through; and her life would come crashing down around her. The odds were high she’d wind up back in prison or thrown into Arkham, to undergo further treatment.

“I…I think I overestimated my strength in a city like Gotham,” her eyes glanced at her worried Commissioner “I love the work, nonetheless, but the place can be exhausting.”

Essen sighed, making a note in her file. “This was going so well… do you think a smaller town might be more fitting?” Her head snapped up at the suggestion. With a few strokes of a pen she could be sent elsewhere, leagues away from Gotham, from Victor. Her problems would be solved; but could she turn from him again?

Her words spilled from her “I think it’d be a worthwhile option to look into.” She felt numb, barely in control of her own body as she signed her name to her file, shaking the Commissioner’s hand.

“We’ll talk to your therapist and see if you’re in a good state to be relocated,” her ears barely registered her superior’s voice “can you stay on until we find out?”

She offered a slight nod, but barely felt her muscles move as she did, as she walked out of the office. She barely felt the beat cop brush past her, and was only snapped out of her trance at the foot of the stair, vicious gunfire filling the room. Out of instinct she ducked low, watching as his coworkers and colleagues bodies sprang forth with red fountains, falling dead, or writhing in pain. The hard copper smell filled the air, mixing with gunpowder and laughter. In moments she was in a sea of carnage, in an all too familiar situation that some time ago, she would’ve caused herself. Her body was frozen still, eyes wide as she watched heavily armed men, dressed as officers but clearly weren’t, surveyed their efforts and cackled at the growing pools of blood, careful to shoot anyone who seemed even slightly alive. Only then did she realize one of them, a large stocky man was pointing a gun at her, ready to relieve her of her life as well.

“Wait!” A voice called out from above her as both her and her would be murderer looked up. She knew the white, grinning face, the ginger hair that seemed to stand on end. A tiny hope glimmered and she smiled.

“I thought I recognized you!” The red headed youth laughed, crouching on the railing above her “that smile is to die for! Like someone who’s seen too much,” his eyes grew dark and his teeth seemed to clench so tight they might shatter. “but that’s fine by me. I love an audience.”

She swallowed, but her smile reset almost automatically, much to his delight. “I-I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced,” she gambled reaching a hand out to him, shaking but determined. “M-my name is Aggie.”

He swept up her hand and pressed it to his lips, applying a hard kiss. “It is a pleasure, Aggie; I’m Jerome! What’s a little orderly like you doing in a place like this?” He giggled “had a feeling that someone needed medical attention?”

“No,” her confidence grew some; she knew crazy, and his interest was piqued. She didn’t feel her life was endangered, for now. “I’m a sketch artist here… I-I come to Arkham for therapy,” her voice hushed, but he was thrilled.

He gasped, a hand on his chest in mock surprise. “These monsters have been telling a pretty thing like you that you’re sick!?” He clicked his tongue, grasping Agneta’s hands in his own. “Now gorgeous that’s just unfair… you’re not sick,” he stood back to his full height as his lackeys lifted a chair onto a desk behind him. “You’re free. You just need to choose to act on it!” She watched as the men forced Essen out of her office, guns trained on her head, as Jerome laced her hands to the chair.

“You’ll see doll face, very very soon…” His attentions turned to the Commissioner, who was promising he’d be nothing, no one would ever remember him. She watched as she spat at him, threw her head against his face, bright redness flowing from his nose. Her mouth fell open as his weapon found her, and as the Commissioner’s blood flew from her, coating her clothes, her hair, her face, filling her mouth, did the thin thread holding her normalcy finally snap.

“You’re all prisoners.” The laughing boy’s words filled her mind as she collapsed into a heap, bloodlust filling her body. “What you call sanity, it’s just a prison in your minds that stops you from seeing that you’re just tiny little cogs, in a giant absurd machine.Wake up!” It seemed like a command just for her, to inspire her, embrace her freedom. “Why be a cog? Be free, like us. Just remember, smile.” His raucous laughter paused only when hearing the sirens outside. “OH! Time to go, but don’t worry, we’ll be back very soon. Hang onto your hats, folks, cause’ you ain’t seen nothing yet!” He was gone, like a red phantom - as quickly as he’d come. But his words, his actions lingered. She barely realized the movement around her, detective Gordon rushing in, trying to revive the dying Essen. All she saw, smelled, tasted was blood. The hinge had broken. She needed to quell it, as soon as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you feel about the intermingling of characters here? Looking forward to hearing from you ;)


	15. Chapter 15

She had no idea how she’d made it home. Still coated in blood she ached to kill something, feel death in her hands; how had she managed to get to her apartment without tearing apart any random bystanders? Some part of her memory had seen Jim Gordon in front of her, asking her if she was alright; she couldn’t recall if she’d answered him in any way. Had she simply turned and left? She paced her tiny home like a starving wolf, her surroundings clouded by red until she couldn’t even recognize her furniture. Her body screamed, the beast in her core awake and infuriated. It knew how long it’d been since she bathed in blood, and it wanted gallons more. Her ears hurt by the pounding of her heartbeat, her own blood rushing faster than it ever had. Her mouth opened in a glass shattering shriek, desperate to release the horror in her, sate it on horrors of her own hands. She was drenched in sweat, blood, tears streamed from her eyes as another voice entered her consciousness. 

“Damn, Agneta; get dressed up just for me?” The red that filled her vision disappeared just enough to see his hairless head, a half grin cocked her way as he stepped towards her. He must’ve known the situation she was in, her world so tortuous; knowing his talents were the only thing that could cease the beast’s demands without a kill. 

“Saw all that mess on the news; just stopping by to see if you got shot – seems li-” His words ceased as her hands gripped his face, kissing him in a hopeless pleading question he already knew the answer to. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him in so tightly their bodies were practically one. His arms wound around her waist, his hands hard against her back as his eyes fell on hers. He knew the wide deranged look in her eye; he knew what she needed, what he’d supplied so many times before. What she gave in return was always cherished, and after so long without it, he starved for it. 

“Okay,” he sighed “this one’s on me. Doesn’t count.” He lifted her by her ass, wrapping her legs around him to steady her as his lips met hers. Their tongues wove together with equally measured want as he tasted the traces of blood still there. He felt the heat from her sex radiating against his own, suddenly unbearably hard; he silently thanked whoever had spattered the gorgeous redness across her skin, and cursed himself for not being the one to do it. She felt him take short steps to her sofa, his body bend and sit, leaning back as she ground herself against him, the beast growling and purring under his fingertips. She paused only to gasp as his fingers tore at her dress, the fabric separating and exposing her upper half and beautiful scars to him. Deft hands undid the clips at her back that hid her breasts, pulling away her bra as his greedy hands cupped and grasped her wares, her head falling back as his kissed and sucked at her, knowing just what she needed. 

“Vi-Victor please, I need–” His fingers filled her mouth and her tongue swirled and coated his them in saliva reflexively, knowing she didn't need any further wetness for him. Still, he withdrew them and trailed them downwards, pulling aside her last fitting garment and sliding three skilled fingers inside her til his last knuckles. The moan the action drew from her was music so gorgeous and so missed he could’ve stopped happy there.

“Mm, sweetcheeks you’re drenched; I don’t know anyone who appreciates blood like you do,” he tickled inside her, his fingers pressed firm against her special spot as his thumb circled her blood engorged clit, her voice incoherent in moans and gasps. “Shall we skip to the main event?” 

His second hand had unzipped his fly, his excitement springing forth thick and curved. He looked up at her, the lust in her still brewing like a storm inside her; it was on him to calm it, free her from its grip. She whined mildly as he withdrew his fingers, but her breath hitched as she felt his tip just touching her opening. Her clit throbbed in anticipation, but he made no move to thrust, nothing to fill her. She looked down to see his waiting face, half lidded eyes watching for her to move; he’d gladly fill her, kill the demon in her, but she had to act first.

Her sweet honey dripped down onto his length, smoothing the transition as she sank slowly, deliberately onto his cock; finally, they were one and the same. He held her there a moment, feeling her sweet center coating him, his mouth pressed to her neck, murmuring curses into her skin at the deliciously sinful feeling that filled him. She ran her nails down his still clothed arms, groaning for more just as he drew back, throwing his hips up into her, a soft slick sound filling the air with every push. He drowned in her, his breath coming out in grunts and growls as he moved. She was barely there; the demon-beast in her held control on her body, limbs, her voice that moaned in octaves she didn’t know she could hit as his body bargained with hers for release. Even in her indulgent stupor she could hardly believe how perfectly they fit together, sliding in and out of her as snugly and securely as if their life together had been only yesterday. His hands gripped hard at her bare back, pulling her down as forcefully as he pushed his cock further into her, as deep as he could reach. Any other woman it may have hurt, but not her. She loved and craved the pains and pleasures only he could give her. Her arms encircled his head, pulling him into her chest to suck at her nipples, tasting her in any way he could. 

“God, you’re so tight sweetheart,” his words practically snarled from his lips, as he felt her walls begin to grip him, begging, milking his sex for every ounce of joy he could give her. She was so close to the precipice, all she needed was a final little push to send her into an ocean other than the bloody one in her mind. His hand slithered between them, reaching for that sweet bud of nerves with the pad of his thumb; each damp swirl keeping time with his thrusts, all too aware of every muscle in her hole beginning to tighten. The sound that came out if her was unintelligible, truly like a demon flying from her as Victor’s actions threw her into an orgasm the likes of which she had not felt in years. Her body quaked and quivered as the vice grip her pussy had on his cock grew to its tightest, bringing his own release to him. His seed drained into her, releasing in spurts as his teeth sank into the skin at her neck, growling deep in his throat. It was then that the dark red clouds finally begin to leave her vision, her beast relinquishing it’s hold. She became chillingly aware of her bare skin, her ex-lover’s arms still wrapped tight around her, his softening manhood still just inside of her. She could sense the fullness his come always granted her, and felt a simultaneous rush of fear and warmth. His eyes finally opened and looked to her, seeing the beast had left, only to be replaced by terror and confusion.

“V-Victor…what–why did-?” She couldn’t form her sentences, her body now squirming from his touch, pulling away; she could feel droplets of his seed slide down her leg. He looked at her with his own combination of confusion and offense. 

“What is this?” He pushed himself up, using the sofa to steady his still twitching legs. “I came here and you were at peak bloodlust; you pulled me in.” 

She pulled her legs up to her chest, her hands covering her mouth as her eyes welled in despair. “H…how could I… I was… I was better,” her hands slid up into her hair, knotting it in her fingers as tears fell. “I broke… I was weak.” He was in no mood for this sadness. 

“Weak?” He spat, tucking his manhood back into his pants. “I’d call you anything but. You were begging me to fuck you, that look in your eye,” he glared down on her, insulted by her embarassment of him. “I saw you Heathen. I felt you. Whatever happened today, it’s freed you.”  
‘Free’ she repeated the word in her brain. Free, just like the fire haired maniac had preached, just like Victor had promised. At the moment she’d never felt more trapped. 

“Please Victor, could you just…” her hands covered her eyes, afraid to look at him. “Could you please go? I-I need to be alone.” He looked at her with angry eyes hairless brows raised her way. 

“Seriously?” With no response he turned on his heel, his step heavy. “Utter bullshit; I’ll be back when you come to your senses.” He threw open her door; only to find Jim Gordon there, poised to knock. 

“You fucking him too?” Victor laughed, pointing a thumb to Jim before pushing past him, leaving the two colleagues alone in silence.


	16. Chapter 16

Jim gawked at her from her doorway, nonplussed by the scene he’d found. She clasped her arms over her bare chest, hiding behind the back of her sofa; he could still hear the infamous hitman’s footsteps moving away.

“Aggie…”

“J-Jim please, I can explain,” she stepped out from behind her hiding place, an arm covering herself as the other raised out to him, holding him at bay. “H-he’– we just,” she darted behind her bed screen, wrapping her blanket around her nakedness, hurriedly trying to formulate a story.

“You told me you’d never seen him before,” the detective’s voice called from her doorway, still without setting foot past the threshold.

“I hadn’t, I-I swear; we only met recently, really–”

“This explains it… what’s been causing your work to slip, why Lee has been so worried about you… you went back to him.”

“No!” She barked, stepping back into view. “There’s nothing to go back to! He pursued me!” She watched as her words fell on deaf ears. He wasn’t going to hear any of her excuses. “Please, Jim,” she whispered “please don’t tell anyone. I can’t go back to where I was…”

“God Aggie; I don’t know what to tell you.” Were his last words, and with a flap of his coat and a turn he was gone. Her home had never felt more empty, or cold. Within mere minutes, her normal world had been ruined.

She carried her cardboard box containing her pencils, sketchbooks from the precinct. The new Captain was nothing to sneeze at; Nathaniel Barnes was hard as nails, with the same values as Jim Gordon with a stricter moral code. When he had called her into his office, there was none of the camaraderie that Essen had leant to the job.

“I’ll keep this short, Haven; I’ve seen your file,” he barely glanced from his desk, putting final signatures on her termination “I know who you were, or who you are. Good on you for getting yourself… healthy, but I don’t have room for ex murderers in my department,” his words stabbed at her deeply, raising a hand as she tried to speak. “I appreciate your work here, but we’re done. You can pick up your last paycheck from the front desk. Pack your things.”

And there she stood, all her belongings scooped into her arms; all her hardwork gone. She let tears fall freely in the daylight, having learned that the average Gothamite wouldn’t think twice about the crying girl on the sidewalk. She glanced down at her last paycheck; just a few hundred dollars stood between her and being completely penniless. She found her way home, only to find the door bolted shut, an eviction notice on the door; Barnes’ new GCPD worked quickly, and had already reclaimed the department provided home. A box had been left by the door, clearly having been rifled through already, containing her clothes and books. Truly, she had nothing.

She pushed her boxes into the dumpster between her former building and it’s neighbour, keeping only the clothes on her back, her last dollars, and Victor’s scarf wrapped round her neck. With all he’d done, she still kept it; she needed the added strength now more than ever. She looked up to the clouded sky over her, just as raindrops began to fall. ‘No more tears,’ she mused, stepping towards the end of the alleyway 'it’s time to use your talents for what you were born to do.’

Jim’s mind was buzzing as he made his way up to Agneta’s apartment, knowing more than anything else that they needed to talk. He had assumed the worst of her based on what he’d seen; innocent til proven guilty, he reminded himself. As he turned the corner of her hallway, he was surprised to find the door to her home slightly ajar. He pushed it open slowly, his hand reaching for his gun as the door swung. The apartment looked relatively the same, but seemed colder. Any signs of her had disappeared, like she had been a ghost.

“She’s not here,” came a voice from his left. Victor Zsasz was leant against the counter of the kitchenette, turning a chipped mug in his leather clad hands. “came to apologize for ratting on us?”

Jim’s gun was trained on Victor, ready to react should he pull anything. “I didn’t say a word to anyone; I came to talk to her about what I saw,” his eyes darted between Victor’s unblinking eyes and his hand holding the mug. “Though since you’re here… confirms my suspicions.”

“Right,” Victor pulled a face, setting down the mug. “Put that thing away Jim, you look ridiculous.” He waved his hand at his gun as if it were a water pistol. “I just came to find her.”

“The new Captain acted quickly,” Jim wasn’t sure if he should offer the information; but Victor had a talent for sniffing people out. “This apartment came with her employment; I don’t know where she could be now.”

Victor’s head dipped, his brow casting a frustrated shadow over his eyes. “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone huh Jim?” He crossed the tiny apartment, his eyes on the sofa, crossing to the floor, to her former bed. He’d wanted to sleep there with her, side by side. “Couldn’t just let us be.”

“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” Jim assured the assassin. “…I assume you two didn’t just meet as she said, though.”

Victor scoffed “First time meeting the spineless ninny the prison system spat out… can barely recognize her now.”

Jim bit his tongue but felt a tinge of anger, knowing she had lied. “Do you know where she could be?”

“Nope,” Victor sneered back, eyeing the door behind him. “Plan to find her though. You don’t worry about her anymore. She’s my business.”

As he stepped past Jim, the detective caught his arm. He bristled, his jaw tensing. “Jim, not now.”

“Just… if you see her, don’t hurt her,”

“Victor grinned in his cold way. "Only if she says please.”

 

Agneta sat on the edge of the dingy, yellowed tub, in the motel room she’d rented for the night. She’d already put her talents to use; had shoplifted new clothes, seduced the man who’s name was on the bill for the room. Here she sat now, an open and used box of hair dye sat next to her. She looked at the clock hanging just outside the bathroom, seeing the time was up. She unwrapped her towel, stepping under the hot stream of water from the shower head above. As the water hit her head, streams of deep red dye came cascading and flowing down her body, rinsing her thick hair clean until the water ran clear. Grabbing a towel which may have been white, once, she tussled her hair to a damp state. Her eyes went to her reflection in the rusted mirror, her face now framed it crimson red hair, her former trademark.

“Heathen.” She whispered, her reflection doing the same. She stepped into the bedroom, naked but for the towel draped around her shoulders. “Like it?” She asked the sap she had tied down to the disgusting bed. He grunted and groaned through the wadded up sock in his mouth, wincing at the thousands of cuts that already littered his body.

“I know right? Red always was my colour,” she smiled softly, picking up the razorblade from the bedside, followed by the complimentary ice bucket. “I’ve spent too much time denying my real self, you know… I’m an artist. I was sketching up until recently, but my real talent is in painting,” she leaned the ice bucket by his neck, looking down at his fearful face; why she’d ever hated this, she had forgotten. “And you’re gonna give me my favourite shade.” She muttered, sliding the blade across his throat, revelling in the light fading from his eyes, his rich red blood filling the bucket. She grinned wide, wider than she had in years. Heathen was free, and she was dancing.


	17. Chapter 17

Gotham was beginning to learn a new word for fear. It was on a few lips to start, only whispered in hushed circumstances, recommended between criminals who needed someone taken out with a message. It didn’t take long for that murmur to grow, though. The black clad, red haired demon who killed for pay, always giving the police a fitting tableau to find; tongues nailed to tables for rats, hands delicately dissected and laid out, nerves still connected for thieves. What had began as a thought had grown into a legend, a killer dancing through Gotham.

The Heathen was running amok.

Jim wasn’t shy in letting his Captain know what he thought about her. He refused to call her Heathen, still using her real name, to protest that had they sought to get her help rather than put her out in the cold, she would not have relapsed. Barnes wouldn’t hear of it, assured that her breakdown had been imminent.

“Just focus on catching her,” his Captain snapped “then we can debate moral philosophy with the cold blooded killer.”

She wasn’t shy. Her ‘art’ was made for the viewing public, and it was always clear it was hers. Yet for months, Victor searched for her, only to lose her scent just when it seemed like he had her in his hands. She was like a kiss just as the warmth of her lips faded, a trace of perfume as she walked away. Just barely out of sight, a hair out of reach.

Snow had fallen on Gotham by the time he saw her again.

He was at work; hunting down a lying former captain under Penguin’s rule. The cold bit against his skin as his underlings circled around him, helping to corner his latest victim.

“You don’t steal from Penguin.” His words were short as a single bullet between the eyes finished the man off; he couldn’t help but wonder what Heathen would have done if she had been with him.

His minions were sandwiching the man’s body into his own car’s trunk as Victor watched the flakes falling under the light of a street lamp. His mind snapped to attention as he heard two silenced gunshots, only to see his latest lackeys fall, both dead with gaping wounds in their eyes. The street was deserted, aside from him now; dark but for the glow of the street lamp.

“It’s freezing,” he turned slow, a disembodied voice radiated from a pitch black alley “It’d be stupid of you to die of cold, sweetheart.”

She took one step out, then another, the soft artificial light refracting the harshness of her black clothing, the vibrant blood red of her hair. Around her neck was that mauve scarf; knotted and protecting her from the chill of the night.

“Heathen,” he made steps towards her only to have her raise a gun on him. “It’s good to see you,” he breathed, raising his hands up but never losing her gaze.

“You too, Victor. Just finishing up a job?” The two could always carry on the most regular conversation while doing the worst things. So often to each other. 

“Yup. All wrapped up for the night,” he dared to take another step; she held her ground but didn’t move her weapon. “You have somewhere warm to sleep tonight?”

She chuckled low; a steely tone in her voice that most would take as a reason to back off; but it only egged him on. “I’ve got a mark with a pretty nice penthouse. I’ll be staying there til they find the body.”

He took a second step, then a third. She didn’t move, didn’t blink; what was the point of this? “Sounds nice. Bet mine is nicer.”

This time she moved towards him, their eyes still locked onto the other’s. “I’m sure it is. Have you been keeping up with my masterpieces?” He had hoped that certain hits, the ones with clean, precise kills only including her name signed in blood, had been for him.

“Talented as ever. Your real skill was always in painting.” The were barely inches from each other now; her gun had moved to sit just under his jaw, ready to open the top of his skull at any moment.   
“Maybe you can give me an art class sometime.”

“You should be so lucky,” she eyed the open trunk behind him, the bodies scattered around it. “There’s one thing my new place is missing though.” Victor raised his brow expectantly.

“A bath tub.”

He grinned, remembering her old traditions. “Well isn’t that a happy coincidence? I do,” their eyes fell on each other. “I could help you out.”

He felt the end of her weapon move from his chin to his forehead; she moved back to put a foot of distance between them. “Hold on now; if I’m going to go home with some man I just met,” he snickered, straightening as she applied more pressure with her gun “I have a few rules.”

“Name them.”

“For one, he can’t lay a hand on me unless I’ve told him so,” she saw his mouth twitch with frustration. “I know how eager he can be.”

“Fine.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, determined to break that rule.

“Secondly, he’ll help me get these bodies home. I’ll be needing them.” This he was far more receptive to, nodding profusely.

“And finally… he owes me a proper conversation.” Her mask faltered for a moment, shedding light on her motives for revealing herself. She was ready to talk, she had her questions.

He grimaced; his view was that they always communicated best without words, but he knew there was no getting her home with no agreement.

“Sure,” he smiled as she left her hand fall, placing her piece back in its holster. “Let’s get a move on sweetcheeks, it’s freezing out here.”

The ex teammates made quick work of stacking the now 3 corpses into the open trunk before taking off across town. She watched as he put a little extra speed into the gas, his gloved hands gripped the steering tight. She could’ve sworn she’d seen light beads of sweat on his brow, but it was too dark to say for certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How ya'll like it so far? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

They had been driving for at least an hour when Victor finally pulled up to an almost abandoned looking street. The houses that lined the street were dilapidated, with yards that seemed untouched for years.

“Great neighbourhood,” she teased “real strong sense of community.”

“I didn’t like my neighbours,” Victor replied, eyes glancing at the desolate buildings “so I made them move.”

She smiled to herself, this was Victor’s way. He kept few people close, and even fewer knew his feelings in them. The car sidled up to only well kept house on the street; some three storey brick built home, grounds immaculately manicured, lights off throughout. She was taken aback for a moment, struck that he was keeping a house; in their time together he had always favoured temporary settings, night by night hotel rooms.

“This is unusual for you, Victor,” she said, stepping from the vehicle. He was already at the rear, retrieving the bodies of his former employees from the trunk. She felt a little twinge of envy, seeing his wide hands gripping their admittedly dead flesh.

“Found myself a good employer years ago, babe,” he jerked his head towards the third body, his own victim. She came round the side, hoisting the man from his place, bending slightly under the dead weight. “Put down roots. Thinking of putting in a pool come spring.” He joked, nudging the trunk closed with an elbow. They walked the stone path to his door, managing to turn the knob and let them in.

His home was neat but not without its quirks. He’d always been one for classic Americana; saying it reminded him of a simpler time. ‘When you could kill a man and go about your business’. As he flicked a switch, a neon sign reading '24 hours’ hummed on at the far wall, casting a pink glow over his furnishings. Plush, black leather sofas sat across from each other, separated by a short table carved to look like a dismembered torso. Along his wall was a small army of little figurines, dolls; items he’d thought funny and taken with him. She smiled, following him up his stair, taking a turn down a hallway before stopping at the room he’d promised her.

“Hope it’s to your standards,” she smiled as the light bulb overhead flickered on, displaying the tub of her dreams; deep, and longer than average; she imagined he’d had it made specially for his tall frame. It stood on clawed feet in the center of the room, seemingly the only reason the room was built.

“It’s perfect,” she purred, wobbling to the tub, draping Victor’s kill over the edge; she withdrew a knife from her jacket, opening the dead throat from ear to ear. Thick, gooey blood seeped from the wound; he had been dead for some time. “Do you still keep that vitamin E oil on hand?”

“Never know when you might need it.” He replied, resting the two female bodies across from his victim’s in the same fashion. He patted their backs, some semblance of respect in his eyes. “You did good ladies. But you have a higher purpose now.” He grinned back at her smiling face, stepping to the mirrored cabinet hung on his wall. He withdrew a mostly full bottle from be cabinet, moving to hand it back to her. She had made short work of opening his minions’ necks, now draining out, pooling against the milk white porcelain. It wasn’t nearly enough, but she was used to diluted solutions. She uncapped the bottle, pouring out the entirety of its contents into the tub. Her hand twisted the handle for a hot river of water, all three liquids combining. When the final drops seemed to leave the three bodies, she pushed them from the edges, letting them flop against the black tile floor.

“Mm… exactly what I need,” she breathed, swirling her hand in the almost brimming concoction, ensuring it was well mixed. She looked up at Victor, black eyes watching her intently “if you don’t mind, Mr.Zsasz?” She glanced at the door, then back at him.

“You said no touching,” he chided, wagging a finger at her “never said I couldn’t watch.”

 

She pursed her lips before shrugging, agreeing silently with his statement. She shed her jacket, tossing it haphazardly. He watched intently as she kicked off her heeled boots, subtracting at least 5 inches from her height. He agonized as her nimble fingers unzipped the leathers that clung to her every curve, silently marveled as it slid from her, pooling at her ankles. He breathed deep, drinking in the sight of her; bare but for a thin scrap of black lace covering her sex; the little rosebuds that capped her breasts already stiffened at his attention. His eyes followed the scarred guide that he’d carved into her, the little swirls and waves included at her behest. He loved them so deeply, as deep as any of his blades could pierce. His hands danced with impatience, dying to feel the rigid little lines once more.

“Damn… damn Heathen. How did you manage to stay so perfect?” His hand went to his mouth in awe as she stepped free of the last remaining clothing she had on, nude in front of him, excepting the bathtub that steamed between them.

“Luck, maybe,” she ran her fingers through her hair, spreading across her shoulders, dangling just over her bust “then again I don’t go carving count into my skin every other day.” She gave him a little smile as her first leg dipped into the hot, scarlet pool, followed by the second. She sank into the scalding redness, a delighted sigh leaving her lips. She tried to do this when she could, but every time she did it had felt like an eternity since the last.

He smiled, moving to undress. “I like my tallies, Heathen,” her eyes opened to see him down to unbuttoning his vest, losing it “every cut marks a life I’ve relieved of the misery in this world,” his shirt dropped to the tiles, exposing his broad, smooth upper half to her for the first time in years. Her gaze wandered amongst the tallies she recognized, as well as the ones she didn’t; some so fresh they hadn’t even healed.

“What are you at now?” She asked, biting her lip.

“Forty-seven,” he replied, retrieving his preferred box cutter from his pocket. “Forty-eight after tonight, though. Care to do the honours?” He held the blade out to her by the handle, indicating to the unfinished line of four by his bicep. She gave him a quizzical little half smile, taking the cutter from him. He kneeled by her side, his eyes on her face, breath shallow.

Just before the blade contacted his skin, she stopped “You’ve never let me do this but before,” she mused, eyeing his skin flecked with the pink, red scars. “You always saved this bit for yourself… why now?” Her eyes found his, black pupils drilling into her.

“I’m trying to be more open,” his hand found the edge of the tub, so dangerously close to touching her flesh. “What better way then to let you open me?”

She gave him her sweetest smile as she sank the well used blade into his flesh, a vicious gasp leaving him as he ground his teeth together. She dragged it down, across the four already placed there; completing it to a perfect five. He took short gasps, looking down at the fresh bleeding mark.

“Forty-eight.” She said plainly, dropping the blade to draw her thumb up from the trickle of red to its source, sweeping it back to between her lips, her tongue savoring his unforgettable taste. The sight was maddening, it took all his strength not to dive into her, spilling all the red that ingulfed her, filling her as much as he could. Still, he fought back.

“You’re a peach, sweetheart,” he forced a smile onto his face, retrieving his box cutter. He moved to the sink that sat under his mirror, placing it there; he undid his fly, kicking his pants off hurriedly. She watched as he moved around the room, shedding layers until he was down to a well fitting pair of boxer briefs that hugged the curve of his manhood snug and flattering.

“I hope you don’t plan to join me Victor,” she extended a pointed leg from her bath, tiny streams of her bloody brew weaving across her skin. “How can I trust you if you won’t follow my rules?”

He frowned, running his thumbs along the elastic waistband. “I’m hurt, Heathen,” he began to roll down the garment, exposing angular hip bones, tensing muscles. “I have the greatest respect for you. You’re the most unforgettable woman I’ve ever met,” his voice had grown husky and deep as his shorts hit the floor, exposing his steadily hardening cock to her. She licked her lips; the beast in her, drunk and fat on the blood she’d been feeding it, growled for something else.

'Down, girl,’ she thought to herself, trying to stay her racing heart. 'He’s got explaining to do’

She watched as his large hand grasped his length, sliding it up and down with slow, long strokes. His glassy eyes were trained on her, his breath heavy and nearly groaning. His hand sped slightly as he watched her lift her legs from her bath, placeing her feet on each edge; her hands seemed to meet at the curve between her hips, but the deep crimson waters obscured it. 

“You always loved it when I worshiped you like this,” he snarled past his lips, his actions growing more spastic, urgent. “You were a goddess, ruling over death. How could I help myself?” He grinned as he heard her own soft gasps, watching the fluid of her bath lap against the rim; he was certain where her fingers dwelled now.

“You still are,” he continued, knowing how his voice could turn her insides hot with need. “It’s killing me, you know. One word and I’ll be on you, showing you how a loyal believer worships a goddess like you.” His sex grew hard as diamond in his hand, watching her dip her head back, whimpers becoming moans, her shoulders and cheeks turning pink from the blood pumping inside of her. “Look at you now, Heathen, you want this so bad… your fingers just aren’t enough anymore are they?”

Her eyes opened just enough to see him standing there, one arm supporting his weight against a wall, the other one fighting between allowing himself release and keeping himself in, in case she grew to the point of begging for him. 

“Th-they’ll do for now, Victor… you can get yourself off, I’m s-sure.” She arched her back hard against the pressures of her hands, her breasts raising from the pool; the sight of her writhing in this sea of blood forced his release from him, white hot come spattering across the onyx tile. He gasped in short bursts, his heart so rapid he thought it might stop.

Breathless, a few lazy circles around her bundle of nerves did the same, crying out with pleasure as her beast gratefully accepted her offering. He watched her legs fall back under the surface, little puddles of blood having been splashed out across his floor.

“Followed your rule, Heathen,” he grunted, pushing himself off the wall.  
“What’s next?”


	19. Chapter 19

She watched him with dizzied eyes, thoughts still swimming after the orgasm she'd inflicted on herself. It was just like him to be so demanding.

"Next," she panted, her arms curving along the edge of the tub. "Next we talk." His face tightened; of her rules he was least looking forward to this one. 

"Fine," he grunted, finding his underclothes again. He slipped them up his legs, adjusting his package before making his way to the head of the tub. The way he towered over her was like some living shadow. "Where do you want to start?"

Agneta cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair. She had imagined this conversation a thousand times, though she had never pictured this particular setting. "Let's start at the end," their gazes were parallel to each other, ready and waiting for the reaction of the opposite. "In the square... did you have the shot?" 

He knew she'd bring this up again; it was his failure that put her through a decade of hell. "I didn't have the shot, Heathen."

"Use my name if you're going to tell the truth." She ordered, blinking back unexpected tears. 

"I didn't have the shot, Agneta," he adjusted, dark eyes focused and unblinking. She breathed deeply; her heart was ready to believe him, but her head screamed to hold him back. "But I did hear you." 

Her mouth dropped slightly, surprised by this unexpected addition to his recount. 

"I... I heard you scream for me," he sucked his lips inward, strong arms crossing his chest. "I thought you were just behind me; by the time I heard you and saw you weren't..." he shook his head and his brow knitted together, a disappointed sigh leaving his lips. Agneta was well and truly baffled; it wasn't like Victor to admit weakness, even less so a mistake. She remained silent as he continued. "I tried to break through the crowd, but they swarmed..." was his voice shaking? "By the time I got close enough to catch a look at you, the cops were hauling you off." 

She blinked, stunned. Victor was shockingly tender in this moment; what had the past 10 years done to him to make him this way? "Why... you never tried to contact me, or see me..." she murmured, her eyes falling a moment before returning to his. His arms and shoulders raised in a shrug, a frustration on his mouth. 

"It's not like I didn't try, Agneta," he stated, a hand running across his smooth head, uncomfortable but accommodating her. "But then... I knew if they locked up both of us, there would be zero chance we'd be together again." He gave her a soft smile, arms slack at his sides. "And if anyone could survive inside and make it out gracefully it's you."

She hated how his comment warmed her chest; but oh it felt so good. 'Stop,' she told herself 'it can't be this easy'. "I was ruined, Victor," there was an anger in her voice. "What they did; I was tortured for information, drugged and locked away when I wouldn't cooperate. They conditioned me to become... normal." The word felt foreign on her tongue now, so completely separate from who she was. 

"You never talked," he pointed out, stepping to the left of the tub, his eyes steady as he knelt beside her, the hand that steadied him just inches from hers. "You could've given them my name, made it stop. Why didn't you?" His question made her blood run cold, those big brown eyes searching hers. 

"I..." she couldn't answer. Couldn't admit to what she knew, the hope she'd held onto. 

"I know," he muttered, fingers aching to touch her. "It's the same reason I couldn't have shot you in that square. The concept is easy but the execution is impossible." His tongue wet his lips, this closeness, vulnerability forcing him to feel so naked. "You were holding out that we weren't over." 

A heavy breath left her chest, a tear braving the journey down her cheek, a mix of sadness and relief in finding he knew her reason, in that he felt the same. In a cautious movement, he reached forward to brush the wayward drop from her face; stopping just shy of touching her. He watched her and waited, needing her permission before their flesh finally touched. 

Her heart won; she gave him the barest nod, and with restraint he drew his thumb across her cheek, whisking the tear away; he couldn't remember a time her skin had felt so good in his hand. It did not leave its place on her face, cool digits warmed on her. 

"Victor... you must know I'm not the same person you knew; Heathen will always be a part of me, but she's not who I am anymore," she breathed, resisting the urge to press her cheek flush in his hand, reach out and touch him herself. "I'm patchwork." 

"So?" he spat back, desperation in his eyes. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want this as much as I do... I don't know who you are now," his other hand found her opposite cheek, cradling her there. "But I want to. Agneta, Heathen; whoever you are, I'll take. Please," he pulled himself forward, his elbows dipping into the bath as he drew her lips close to his. "Stay." 

It was Agneta who closed the gap, giving in and laying a kiss on his mouth. Outside of the stupor her beast always carried, mind clear, he had never tasted better; cold lips hiding a hot and soft tongue, kissing her back with the same urgency. Those nearly black eyes drilled into hers as he pulled back, breathless.

"Maybe you could get me a towel?" She whispered, a sheepish little expression on her face. He gave her a smile before turning to fetch it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happeniiiiing!!

As her bath cooled, she patted her skin dry of moisture; thankfully Victor kept black towels. He knew the annoyance of dealing with blood, and black was the easiest way to deal with it. She wrung out her hair in a tight twist, red seeping from her matching locks. Finally satisfied, her skin feeling supple and enriched, she wrapped a large towel around herself before going looking for Victor. She stepped back into the cool hall of his unfamiliar house, feeling strange about not already knowing her way; it would take time to learn all the new parts of him,  of his life.

"Victor?" Her voice was quiet as the door swung open, revealing what she could only imagine was his bedroom. It was well appointed but minimal; a wide bed sat up against a wall, black sheets with white pillows. By a far window was a seating area, a wing back chair and a love seat, donning white pillows on the black leather. She stepped in, noticing the hardwood underfoot, following to a dull mauve rug that laid under the bed frame.  It was him, in architecture, in decor.  But she didn't find him there. 

"Like it?" She suppressed the urge to jump, feeling him appear behind her like a ghost. She turned, seeing he'd covered himself with lazily tied drawstring pants, a half empty bottle of milk in his hand. He gave it a little shake "Gotta refuel." He handed her the bottle and she gave it a grateful little swig; one thing they still shared was a penchant for dairy. She licked the residual moisture from her lips and couldn't help but notice how fervently he watched her do so. 

"Your employer's kept you in nice digs, Victor," she complimented, making her way to the mattress and running a hand over the plush spread. "You're clearly earning your keep." 

He joined her beside the bed wanting nothing more than to throw her down. "I do good work; I'm paid in kind," he grinned and pulled the bottle from her hand, placing it on a night stand against the wall. "I bet he could use another talent in his arsenal though." 

She gave him an incredulous look. "Me?" She scoffed, arms crossing over her towel. "I haven't had a steady job since my 5th grade paper route." She sighed as his hand found her waist, bringing her in against him. 

"It's not the worst life to have. You'll always have red for your projects, boss takes care of the cash flow; you could put down roots of your own," His second hand moved under her neck, fingers weaving in damp tresses. A soft, willing whimper rang from her lips, making him smile as he placed kisses across her jaw, neck and shoulder. "I mean picture it; an in ground pool. Just the two of us." He stopped as her hand pressed against his chest, taking a step back from him. 

"Let's talk about this later." She husked, delicate hands removing her towel and throwing it to the open floor. His stare cascaded down her body; her scars seemed to glow silver on her skin, a hot flush across her tits and shoulders. 

"Talk about what?" He growled and pulled her against him once more, starved hands roaming her frame, tracing every curve he'd created. His mouth was on hers again, dull groans against her little whimpers as her arms hooked around his neck, holding so tightly he could hardly breath. He turned and let himself fall back against his bed, taking her with him. He pulled her knees apart to straddle his stomach, delighted to feel a hot wet sensation against his core. 

"I missed these," he sighed, running his fingers along her back, knowing the pattern of her scars by heart. "Some of my best work." She smiled, her own hands running across the tallies on his arms. 

"They healed up nicely; I wish you'd seen them at their pink stage," there was sadness in her voice, thinking of the decade they'd lost. "They were so pretty then." She jolted and shuddered as his hands slid down and cupped her ass, long fingers digging into her flesh. 

"Don't you worry," he purred into her ear, biting at the lobe. "We'll make new ones." Their mouths joined again, nothing held back. His hands wandered her body, fondling and massaging her tits, reminding himself how her body arched and cried out when he tugged at her nipples. She wasn't shy either; nails dragged against his chest, hurriedly unfastening the loose laces of his sweats. 

"Victor if you don't mind; there's something I've been wanting to do..." she breathed, crawling down his body and off the edge of the mattress.

"Don't let me stop you, darling." He couldn't keep the grin off his face, raising his hips as she shimmied his clothes from his hips, yanking them from his legs. His cock lay against his stomach in a half formed erection, his body weight propped up on his arms behind him. She licked her lips looking at the sight above her, mouth watering; she always loved him from this angle. Her fingers wrapped around his length, taking only a few pumps of her fist to grow to it's full hardness. She reveled in hearing the sharp growl from his throat as her tongue played across the head of his dick, savoring a strongly missed taste. 

"Fuck, that's perfect," he cooed, one hand finding her hair as her lips closed around him, watching entranced as her head began to bob slow and steady. She moaned against his length, vibrations humming against him as she picked up her speed, starving for more of his taste. "You haven't lost your touch, gorgeous... Mm yeah that's it." She could feel the thick vein that ran along his underside pounding against her lip, tongue swirling and coating him as much as she could. He bucked his hips upward, snarling past his teeth as his breath grew more ragged. All she wanted was to feel him release, taste his come; but felt him tug her hair back, sliding from his cock with a pop. 

"Victor come on, I--" she stopped, seeing the look on his face. He was overcome; his teeth clenched and eyes glassy with need. He took hold of her arms and hoisted her back to the bed, tossing her down and drawing her legs apart with a knee. 

"I need this," he grunted, his dick pressed hard against her slit. He watched her face, forearms around her head to keep his weight off her. "Tell me you want me, Agneta; tell me you want to get fucked." 

She was trembling under him, her legs spreading further for full access. "I need you inside me, Victor," her voice was barely a breath, arms curved around his back, trying to pull him closer. "I need you to fuck me, make me feel like I used to; please, god, please!" She nearly screamed as his cock filled her, stretching her cunt to fit his girth. He growled with her, eyes locked on hers as their foreheads came together, a drowsy smile on his cheeks.

"I told you I'd make you beg." He chuckled as he drew back only to thrust in harder, faster; her pussy conformed to his manhood, a shape he'd carved out for himself countless times. Sounds of sex filled his room, his animalistic groans and roars, her long and breathy cries of his name; the soft slick noise of pounding her sex, wet and wanting.

"Fuck, Victor more!" She begged; he was happy to oblige her; hips throwing into her, lips on hers in hunger. She shuddered as his hands went to the back of her knees, pushing her legs back to reach the very deepest parts of her; the ridge of his cock rubbing against her most sensitive spot. "Oh yes, don't stop!" 

"Never, gorgeous," he purred, sweat forming on his forehead as he fucked her wantonly. "This is right where you belong."  He grinned at her face, heavy with desire, tongue darting out in an effort to taste him. The moans he drew from her were like music, like a gospel for his ears alone. 

"Oh god, Victor... oh Victor I'm close..." She gasped, her body flush with tingling as her orgasm began to build at her core, so near the edge of losing herself. 

"Do it baby. Come for me; show me what I do to you," his words was all  it took to push her past the breaking point, her body convulsing and eyes rolling back, breathing his name over and over again in a prayer for this to be her life forever. He wasn't far behind; the vice her cunt created around him always proved too much for him, thrusting in as deep as he could, coating her walls with thick white ropes of come. His own body was wracked with shivers, muscles tensing across every inch of him. 

"Victor," she panted, her arms pulling him in close, heaving for breath. His own arms snaked around her, flush against his solid chest. 

"Agneta," he muttered back, kisses lining her chest and neck. His grip on her was firm but gentle; their bodies slick and satisfied after years of denial. He gazed down at her, and she at him; after so many years they'd fallen back into this dance just as easily as they ever had. It only reaffirmed what Victor was certain of; they were made for each other. 

They laid there for what felt like hours, minds blank but for each other. Agneta could feel the beast inside her frolicking in joy; she could guess the same of her partner. She was tracing lines across his back, breathing even and deep. It took him a few moments to finally roll from her, his spent and soaked cock lying against his hip. 

"Hot damn," he laughed, pulling her close with a strong arm as the other wiped perspiration from his hairless brow. She nestled herself into his body, hair wild and mussed against his shoulder. "That was incredible, sweetcheeks." 

"I'd forgotten some of your finer details," she admitted, drinking in his scent; musky with a hint of blood. Still she held on as tight as she could; a part of her scared he would disappear if she didn't. "Though I thought I remembered how good you felt; clearly I had underestimated my memory." He gave her head a kiss, an invisible brow raising to her. 

"There's plenty of time to make new memories, Agneta," he sighed, a happy hum resonating in his chest. "And I'll remind you of all our old favourites; every night if I have to." He snapped his teeth at her, giving her a little shiver. She closed her eyes, the steady heartbeat of her lover under her palm. It was the first time she'd felt normal in years.


	21. Chapter 21

Victor stirred in his slumber, suddenly aware of the emptiness in his bed. With sleepy eyes he looked over to see Agneta had wrapped herself in one of his sheets, staring out the window from his love seat. He heaved himself out of bed, still nude from their earlier activities. 

"Agneta?" He yawned, catching her attention. "Come, sleep."

She smiled, nodding towards the window; dawn was burgeoning over the forest behind his house. "I'm sorry love; I've got work to do." She walked to him, his body curving around her. 

"No," there was a hint of a whine to his demand, hands on her waist. "Too early. Sleep." 

She swatted him away, turning for the door. "I'll find my way back here, darling. I've got to fetch my clothes," his hand caught around her wrist,  drawing her back. 

"Promise me," he commanded, holding her face in his hand. "You'll be back. Otherwise I'll have to track you down myself," his breath was hot on her ear. "Let's not waste any more time on cat and mouse, hm?" 

She nodded slightly, wishing she had time to fuck him again before leaving; but it would have to wait. "I'll be back. I swear." She made short work of clothing herself in his bathroom, tying her still messy hair back til she could find a brush. The fresh snow crunched underfoot as she left, leaving tracks to guide herself home. 

\----------

Thankfully, her most recent mark had hair. She let herself into the spacious penthouse where she had been keeping her things; passing the 4 day old corpse sat at the dining table that had belonged to him in life. 

"Hey stiff," she greeted it absentmindedly, finding her way to her pack; a change of clothes was needed, as was reequipping. Her work had granted her funds for a proper wardrobe, digging out a combination of leather gear; today a jacket, skirt and legging combo. She worked out the knots in her hair in the dead man's bathroom, still running over the previous night's end. 

She had planned the extraction of answers, though far bloodier than how it had turned out. Getting Victor to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth; something she had been ready to do if he had resisted. Sex hadn't come into it; but she couldn't deny how fantastic it had felt under his hand again. Her body remembered long forgotten sensations as he'd touched her, the beast in her shrieking for more. It was frustrating that he still had such control over her, but given their new circumstances, maybe it would be alright. 

She tried to shake him from her head as she whisked up her weapon of the day; a long barreled sniper rifle, made for a waiting game. She carried her kit with her, intending an exciting evening of disection and painting as she left the house, making a mental note to change locale and soon. Wimberley was starting to stink. 

Agneta yawned, rubbing her eyes in her hiding spot atop a 5 storey walk-up in the Narrows. Her client had a problem with an informant in the GCPD; that being he had been informing the police of his dealings more than he had of theirs. A rat was usually just a tongue nailed to their dinner table, a bullet in their temple; but the client had asked for the deluxe. So there she was, laid out against the lip of the building, black M40 propped up on her shoulder. The customer had told her the rat would be leaving his girlfriend's building by 9:30, early enough to get home to his wife from the 'night shift'. It was men like this Agneta didn't mind killing in the slightest.

Her watch told her 9:27; assuming the intelligence was good, she didn't have much longer to wait. She breathed slowly, attempting to quiet the monster in her that was begging for a kill. Always so impatient. 9:28, she noted and flexed her hands around the trigger, fingers nimble and calm. Agneta's mind pulled her to thoughts of Victor, wondering if he was still asleep in that warm bed. Wondering if he was working a job of his own. 'Stop,' she scolded 'you're acting like a giddy little schoolgirl'. 

Her eye snapped to attention as she saw movement through the rifle's sight; the sleazy saunter and zealous grin matched the photo her buyer had supplied; the man still zipping up his trousers as he ambled out of the porch way. She allowed a soft smile on her lips, her weapon running parallel to the man's kneecap as she fired. The beast in her purred as she watched his leg give out in spurts of blood, sending him to the ground. He writhed in her lens, hands gripping at his knee. She stood from her place, hair whipping behind her in a frigid wind. It was time to collect her victim and start her latest art project. 

\-----------

Victor was awakened from a deep sleep by the cellular notes of his ring tone. His hand searched for it blindly on his nightstand, haphazardly knocking the empty dairy bottle from its place. Finding it, he brought the device to his ear, flipping it open. 

"Zsasz," he muttered, rubbing his face free of slumber. 

"Victor!" A raspy, whinging voice spat from the phone. Penguin. "Where the hell are you!? We had a meeting with Kean an hour ago!" 

He pulled back his cell, reading the time; 11:36. Later than usual for him, and his squealing boss was right, he had missed their meeting. 

"Do you know how it looks when I show up without my muscle at my back!? You made me look like a fool in front of her and Tabitha, weak! If Edward hadn't been there--" 

"I slept in," he interrupted, rising from his bed. "Would you cool it? I'll be there soon." 

"You had better be!" His exasperating employer shrieked through the device. "Bring your girls, I've got work for you." 

"Yeah, about that," he grumbled, thinking of his girls' bodies now rotting in his bathroom. He felt a little twinge of sympathy for them, but it was worth it for Heathen. "Gotta get some new girls. They uh... retired."  

He heard Penguin sigh into the receiver on his end. "Fine, hire whoever you want; just get over here!" He squawked, feathers ruffled. 

"Will do chief." Victor snapped the phone shut, digging through his closet for fresh clothes. His work didn't require a sharp wardrobe, but he felt it helped him focus. Black on black on black was his standard, as it would be today; selecting a thicker coat due to the ever dropping temperatures of the city. His holsters and weapons nestled against his ribs as he slipped on his boots, making his way down to his door; he paused when we saw a familiar mauve wrapped around the knob. He smiled, unwinding it from its place and wrapping it around his neck. He could smell her on it; just enough to sate him til she found him again. 

He arrived at Penguin's palatial mansion within an hour, traffic being surprisingly forgiving. As he entered the building he found the little Cobblepot standing in the foyer, fuming with anger.

"Lo and behold, he appears!" Penguin had always been gifted with sarcasm. His friend and confidant, Edward Nygma, watched from the staircase, making note of their interaction. Victor wasn't the biggest fan of his. "You know if I'm going to be King of Gotham, it'd be nice if my employees could be punctual!" 

 

"Late night," Victor replied, teeth already on edge. Penguin didn't have any of the grace or decorum of Carmine Falcone, the man who'd given him his start in Gotham. The new King's saving grace was that he paid well; it was one of the few things that kept him around. "What do you need?" 

Penguin's face grew blotchy with rage, as it always did when he didn't get his way. "Since you clearly haven't been paying attention, I need you to go and do some persuading," he cleared his throat. "Some of my constituents are proving stubborn in their ways." 

"I still don't think you need your dog to go convincing voters, Oswald," the slender man on the stair piped up. "The people love you; it won't help if he's seen doing dirty work in your name." 

"I'm very discreet," Victor sneered, glaring at Edward. "Boss," he began again, turning his stare to Penguin. "I'm bringing on a partner for myself. She's good. Equal pay, yeah?" He raised a brow at Penguin, waiting for a response. 

 

The little man gave him a perplexed look; Victor had always handled payment for his sidekicks, and it was never anywhere near what he was paid. "Equal? Just pay her whatever your other minions have made." 

"She's not a minion," Victor growled, taking a heavy step. "I said partner. When you see what she can do, you'll see she'll earn her keep," Penguin smirked, still sceptical. He'd take a little more coaxing. "I'm sure you've heard about Heathen?" 

Penguin's ears perked at the name; even at the top of the heap he knew her; so far she hadn't hit one of his men; but with the work he'd seen, he didn't want to run the risk of being on her list. 

"She's come up," he mumbled, not wanting to give away his interest. "She's... very creative. You think you can land her?"

"We go way back. I'm sure I could have her in for an interview," Victor's little half grin told of more than a business relationship; but she was good, and would be undeniably useful. "What do you say?"

"Fine. Have her come by tonight; we'll see if she's worth it," He turned to Edward, beckoning him closer. "Ed, see about dinner plans. Hopefully this won't prove a waste of my time." 

"Certainly, Oswald," his bespectacled friend gave a nod, as the birdish man wobbled to his office. Edward cast a disapproving eye on Victor, his lip curling back. "Don't you have a job to do?" 

Victor chewed on his lip, thinking about killing Nygma now and being done with it, but decided against it. He reached a hand out and Edward supplied him with a short list of names for him to go 'convincing'. He gave him a mocking salute before turning on his heel, ready to start the better part of his day; one which would end with a hunt for his Heathen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting up an actual time line! Whaaaa?!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to hear people enjoying this :) this chapter might get a little graphic, so venture carefully. Love you readers!
> 
> (GORE, GRAPHIC DEATH)

She had selected an abandoned building which had once been the base of operations for her client's smuggling ring. Just off of the harbour, it had been booming, until a police raid had shut it down; one which the boss thought the rat responsible for. 

"P-please no, I've got a family!" The greasy little man begged as she secured industrial ropes around his arms. His knee still seeped with blood, but bandaging and anticoagulants had helped to slow it down. 

"Should've thought about that before double crossing Herman then, hm?" She replied, pulling out a well sharpened blade from her torture kit. It was the first of many she would need. "Your wife, Sandra will be distraught when they tell her about what I've done to you," she continued, tearing the man's shirt open to expose his belly. "I just hope your son never sees the pictures. They'll give him nightmares for the rest of his life." 

She smiled and sank the blade into the corner of his mouth, opening it up to the end of the jawbone; then matched the other side. She laughed as he screamed, only causing further tearing. 

"Open wide, Mr.Duncan!" She grinned, taking a hefty handful of his stomach fat, knife poised to slice. The deluxe package was always messy. He had finally stopped moving; and a finger to his throat proved he was dead. She took a step back to admire her work for the day; his heavily mutilated midsection, chunks of yellow fat hanging from his torn mouth; he'd choked down a surprising amount, more than she could recall in recent victims. His face was a cartoonish terror now; a sliced off nose to give the appearance of a snout. She had taken strips of flesh from his body and stapled them against his head, like ears sprouting from his skull; which of course meant the removal of his real ones. She sighed happily, her footprints tracking through the wide, dark pool of blood he'd secreted, matching spatter coating her head to toe.'So much beautiful red in such an ugly person,' she thought to herself, retrieving a Polaroid camera from her bag.

"Oh! Almost forgot," she draped the camera strap around her neck, walking back to the body and shoving her fingers in deep, extracting fresh blood to write with. Against the wall at his back she scrawled the message her client had requested:

**THIS LITTLE PIGGY HAD FUN**

****  
It was hardly anything elegant, but it got the message across. "There." She nodded, running her bloodied hand through her hair; with the sun nearly down she didn't have as much need to hide the results of her activities. She raised the camera to her eye, stepping back and getting a handful of shots the buyer had wanted for proof.  
  
"Wow," a deep voice from behind her caused her to spin, relieved to see Victor there; she had spent most of her energy on her art project. "Anyone ever tell you you're an artist?" He chuckled, walking across the floor to marvel at her work.  
  
"Hello Victor," she gave a shy smile; it had been a decade since he'd been present at one of her displays. "How'd you find me?"  
  
"Wasn't too tricky; I know your M.O," he explained, whistling low as he came to a stop just before the sea of blood, leaning in to inspect her work. "Just asked around, see if anyone saw any gunmen with red hair today. You have kind of a signature look, gorgeous." He turned back to her, camera still clutched in her hands. "Deluxe package, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, removing the Polaroid from her shoulders and setting it back in her kit; she retrieved the photos from the ground, inspecting them for clarity. "Did you need something? I told you I'd be back soon, love." She felt a little chill in her spine; she had been avoiding calling him that.  
  
"Actually yes," he shrugged his shoulders, moving to her side as she packed up her tools. "Boss is looking for some creativity in his empire; wanted him to meet you," he gazed at her through heavy lidded eyes, following the pattern of blood she'd made on herself. "I thought you'd be perfect."  
  
She slung her bag over her shoulder, looking up at him. "You sure you want me? I've been told I can be volatile." she saw a violence in his eyes; he had always loved her covered in blood.  
  
"Comes with talent," he breathed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Besides, you and I make a good team. The work we do together would be magic." His face was a breath from hers, he could see the need in her eyes that he felt in himself.  
  
"You've got me there," she ran her tongue over her lips, arms wrapping around his torso. "Does he want to see me right now? I need to get cleaned up."  
  
"He can wait," Victor growled, fingers in her hair as he pulled her head to his, mouths mashing in an urgent, starving kiss. His teeth pulled at her tongue as hers did at his lower lip, her stained hands roaming his back. "Besides, you could get a little messier."  
  
She grinned as he threw her down into the puddle of red by their feet; they would both be coated in minutes.  
  
\-------------------  
  
Agneta wasn't expecting a mansion when they drove up to its gates. She glanced at Victor in the driver's seat, a smug look settled on his features; he was well aware of the effect of these grounds. She was used to old men, holed up in penthouses and clubs, giving her a short list of demands before sending her on her way; not this massive colonial home, or the tiny young man who owned it. He was sat at a long dark wood dining table, a high backed chair casting a shadow across his gaunt features. Agneta paused as they entered the room when she caught sight of the tall dark haired man stood next to the so called King of Gotham.  
  
"Ed?" She blinked, placing his face. He stared back, stunned.  
  
"Miss Haven?" He too was dumbstruck; they had barely spoke when at the GCPD, but it was nevertheless a surprise to see her here. She was a shadow of the woman he'd met, coated in black and red.  
  
"You've met?" The man calling himself Penguin looked up at Edward, waiting.  
  
"Uh yes, through the police department," he pushed up his glasses, looking from him to Agneta. "You were a... sketch artist?"  
  
"I was," she nodded, arms folding over her chest. "I don't think you called me here for a portrait though." Victor chuckled behind her, stepping forward and placing an arm around her.  
  


"Victor tells me you've got a talent for killing," Penguin began as a maid filtered into the room, wine and glasses in hand. "Thinks you're worth the same salary as him. Would you say the same?"  
  
She watched the little man with hard eyes. "We have very different styles," she chose her words carefully as the maid poured the first glass, handing it to Penguin. "But we're not at the tops of our field for nothing."  
  
"That's very well and good, Heathen, but what can you do for me that he doesn't already?" He pointed a skinny digit at his bald hitman while taking a sip from his glass.  
  
She gave a cool little smile, looking to Victor before continuing. "Victor has a talent in being quiet. You need someone killed, he'll do it quickly and they'll vanish like they were never there," she moved from her lover, swaying her way down the lengthy table. She was thankful for having bathed before arriving. "Victor is silent; but I'll tell you a story." She stopped at the King's side, withdrawing the snapshots from her coat and tossing them down.  
  
Penguin choked on his wine as he stared down at the figure in the photos; it barely looked human but he was sure it was. It was grotesque, artistic and bone chilling; it was beautiful. He looked up at her with cold green orbs, letting his mouth break into a crooked toothed grin.  
  
"Call me Oswald," his voice was warmer, extending a hand towards Agneta. She raised her brows and took the shake, giving his hand a little squeeze. "Olga, pour Heathen a glass. We've got a contract to hammer out."  
  
Agneta thanked the maid as she handed her the glass, raising it to her new friend. "Thank you, Oswald. And please, call me Agneta." Victor had moves just behind her, giving her shoulder a grasp.  
  
"I told you she was worth it." He grinned, black eyes twinkling in her direction. She reached up to take his hand, unable to keep from grinning herself. She hoped that this arrangement would mean a new normalcy for herself.  
  
The deal they settled on was more than fair; the salary high enough for Agneta to afford a mansion of her own if she wished. She didn't require much, so long as she was allowed to stay with Victor. Oswald and Ed had shared an uncomfortable glance at that stipulation, but were quick to agree when pressed. She felt altogether lighter; as if she had a new shot at the life they'd promised one another years ago. When all was said and done she walked away from the mansion a rich woman.   
  
Under the cold starlight as they walked down the steps to Victor's waiting car, he swept her into his arms and kissed her firmly, teeth nearly clacking together as he did.  
  
"First day on the job tomorrow, gorgeous," he murmurred against her lips, fingers in her mane. "How do you want to celebrate tonight?" She grinned against his mouth, tugging at the scarf around his neck.  
  
"Take me home," she whispered, all too greedily dragging him down the steps. "And don't stop til I pass out."  
  
As per usual, he was more than happy to oblige.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also very sorry for posting so late! Today kicked my ass.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter succession!? Whaaa!?
> 
> This chapter includes the equivalency of engagement for our two assassins; but it is Zsasz so there is cutting involved. Proceed with caution should this not be your cup of tea.

The world Agneta found herself in was so tantalizing she had to wonder if it was a dream. Her employer always had a steady stream of people who had wronged him, and she worked seamlessly with Victor in creating brand new masterpieces. Every night she found herself in bed with the man she loved, tracing his tally marks as he slept, or screaming for him as he fucked her. It was a decadent combination, and for once she and her beast were on agreeable terms. 

In the heated afterglow of sex she was sprawled across his mattress, body throbbing from his ministrations, seed running down her thigh. It was one of her favourite ways to end her days now. He returned from the bathroom to find her grinning like a fool, disjointed laughter on her lips. 

"Don't tell me you've completely lost your mind?" He asked, lying in his place next to her. She beamed up at him, her palm against his chest. 

"Nothing like that; I just never imagined I'd be back here," she rolled against him, nuzzling her thick hair against his heartbeat. "With you, in our line of work... they really need to work on the mental conditioning system in prisons, it clearly doesn't stick." His arms pulled her in tight, breathing in her smell. 

"I had an inkling," he admitted, mumbling against her hair. "People like us, we gravitate towards each other. And what did I tell you?" He tilted her head up with a tug on her tresses, black eyes on her face. "Things are different here." 

She nodded, kissing his lips. "Very," she agreed. The beast inside her mewled; it was in no way finished with him. They both wanted more. "Victor..." she breathed, feathering kisses across his chest. 

"Mm... still not sleepy, sweetheart?" She felt his body shake with a laugh, a large hand reaching down to massage the curve of her ass. With a quick hoist she was on top of him, his already stiffening cock pressed between them.

"Not quite... th-there's something I've been wanting to ask you," she purred, rolling her hips against his manhood, demanding and greedy. He groaned as she did, fingers gripping at her thighs. "Do you...mm...do you still have that flickblade...?" She watched his eyes widen, knowing what she was asking for. 

"Of course, cupcake," he breathed, grinding up against her. "Are you sure you want to? We only have a few more cuts to make." He pointed out despite the haze surrounding his brain. 

She gave a perky little nod, her hands meeting just under her breasts, at the center of her ribs. "Right here," she whispered; she wasn't certain of many things in her new life; but this she had been wanting for years, even when telling herself otherwise. 

He tilted his head slowly in agreement. "Alright; let me up." She crawled from him and observed as he left the room once more, off to find the knife in question. She gazed up at his ceiling, her heart pounding with nervous excitement. She touched the bare spot she had selected, the smooth skin just under her sternum; she'd always imagined it there. Her mind still a hungry mess, her hands slithered between her thighs, finding her raw but wanting clit, applying light circles. She moaned softly at her own action, feeling her other hand twist into her opening, still sopping and sensitive. She picked up speed; her beast was impatient, as was she. Her hips raised from the bed involuntarily, fingers now leaden and rapid on her sex. 

"V-Victor," she shuddered, her fingers slick in their blend of juices, sticky and pooling inside her. She sank her teeth into her lip, her digits wild against her; as good as she was she wanted him more.

"You rang?" She looked to the foot of the bed to find her love, grinning ear to ear at the scene he'd found. One hand held the distinctive blade she'd requested while the other slowly pumped at his length; she wondered if he'd been there long.

"Don't stop on my account, gorgeous. You put on quite a show." His breath was deep as he watched her, amused and impressed that his interruption hadn't stopped her. It was a sight he'd never tire of; her body used and loved, her pussy soaked and messy. Her face was the picture of lust, eyes welled with hunger. Still, she pulled her hands away, up to her hip bones as she spread her legs as wide as she could, inviting him in. 

"I'm better in a double act," she whimpered, feeling the mattress depress as he crawled up to her, blade cradled in his hand. He laid it aside as he pulled her up against him, thighs spread across his own kneeling over her. He slid into her folds without much obstruction, slick and swollen around him,heard her gasp and screw her eyes shut, knowing she was still sore. He rocked against her slowly, his thumb grinding softly across her clit to soothe the sting, murmuring light praises. 

"Mm, that's a good girl, take it," he growled, letting his thrusts pick up as her muscles tightened around him; getting used to his shape again. He retrieved the blade from his side, sliding it from its sheath; he kept it gleaming. "You feel so good, Agneta." 

She watched him through her lashes, seeing the glint of that familiar knife in his fingers; she remembered the last time it had opened her flesh, long, deep cuts that seemed unending. He'd made them feel like heaven; somehow with him, any penetration was climactic. She bucked against him, demanding more friction, more filling; though it stung she craved the sensation.  
"I'm ready," she panted, letting her arms fall to her sides, giving him the lead. "Carve me." 

He nodded and ran his tongue across his teeth, pressing the tip of the blade into her flesh as he kept up with slow, shallow thrusts; she yelped as blood welled around the blade, sinking it deep enough to be certain of scarring. The yelp became a moan as he dragged it down into an angle, only a few inches; these would be the smallest cuts he'd ever given her, but they were his most important. He withdrew the instrument from her flesh, blood spreading across her chest, trickling down her ribs. Again he plunged the blade into her flesh, inches from the initial cut; she groaned as he dug in another line, angled to meet the first at a point. 

"It's done," he murmurred, gazing down at the finished product; blood spilled across her form from his work; a V, cut right into her center. "Beautiful." He declared, his body reinvigorated, dying to fill her again; she always looked best coated in red. She shivered as he pounded against her, his eyes locked on the fresh, seeping wound; her fingers found it, blood transferring to her digits. She reached up with stained hands to cradle his face, his mouth opening to accept the blood ferried to his tongue; she tasted so good. His upper half fell over hers, his hips pumping forward with more force, animalistic and reckless, her blood smearing across his chest, mouths joined in starvation. 

"You're stuck with me now, Agneta," he grunted, throwing himself harder and harder into her, his cock beginning to swell and tingle; seeing her like this always severed his stamina. "You're mine; nothing will ever change that." 

"Nothing," she repeated, holding him tight; her new cuts throbbed with pain but it was incredibly welcome. "I'm all yours now," she sank her nails into his back, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm yours to keep, forever." She arched against him as she felt her climax hit, unintelligible sounds leaving her lips as her limbs crushed around him; if she could have swallowed him whole, she would have. He followed, snarling against her hair as he came, his release brimming inside her again with wet, soaked sounds filling their ears. 

"I'm all yours," she panted as their bodies stilled; as was usual he didn't want to pull from her - he felt most at home there. "No more leaving me for the cops." She teased, giving his skin a pinch. 

"Never, Agneta; I'll kill you first," he joked, grinning at her. He smooth her hair with his palms, streaks of blood across her face and flesh. "Promise." 

She smiled and closed her eyes, revelling in the sensations of his touch, his warmth. When he finally pulled himself up, there was a sticky coating of congealed blood between them; the cuts already trying to heal. On rubbery legs she made her way to the bathroom, selecting gauze pads, medical tape and rubbing alcohol from his mirrored cabinet. She winced at the sting of the alcohol touching her open flesh, clearing away the excess of blood; she folded her gauze into a square large enough to cover the V and was just about to tape it in place. 

"Awe, don't cover it up!" She smiled as Victor's deep voice whined from behind her. He'd retrieved a set of towels, turning the knob for hot water in the standing shower built into his wall. He'd always preferred a shower to a bath. "Come here; let's get you squeaky clean." 

She blushed as she stepped under the scalding heat of the shower, Victor making room for her side by side. Her muscles relaxed under the hot cascade, Victor's hands massaging her skin free of blood. Her fingers ran across his body, admiring the well cared for muscles that lived under his scars. 

"I could get used to this," she said, pulling him down for a kiss. "Penguin's set you up nicely here."

"He's not the worst," he conceded, reaching for a bottle of body wash from a rack hung by the shower head. He squeezed a helping of its contents into his palm, lathering before returning his hands to her form. "He didn't get me my start here though."

"No?"

"No," he replied, paying extra care to scrubbing her breasts, more fondling than cleaning. "That would be Don Falcone's honour." 

She had heard the name in passing once or twice; usually by old men reminiscing about what the city used to be. "Must've been quite the man to land you." She remarked, tilting her head back as his hands moved up her neck, down her shoulders. 

"He was. Still is; nobody fucked with Don Falcone," there was a nostalgic tone in his voice, a wistful look in his eye. "The city was about respect when he was here."

"Wish I could've met him," her arms wrapped around his torso, sharing suds between them. "Would've thanked him for all the fine work he did on you." 

His hairless brow raised to her, a smile on his lips. "Actually, you could," he let his hands rinse clean under the spout, placing them on her waist. "He'll be in town for a wedding soon. His boy's getting hitched." 

She shied a moment; unsure of herself. He sensed it and cupped her face, planting a kiss on her mouth. "He'll love you; I swear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I consider myself something of an artist; would you all be interested in some character design of how I picture Agneta? LMK lovelies!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aggie cleans up good and meets new and old friends!

Fish out of water. She had never understood the expression more than in this moment. Don Falcone had spared no expense for his son's engagement party, having commandeered a set of floors in a fantastically appointed high rise for the event. The room teemed with well wishers, somehow or other affiliated with the major crimes that ran the city. Well dressed men with their wives and mistresses on their arms, beautiful women giggled at the jokes of well greased older men, despite their lack of humour. Any of them could wind up on the end of her knife. 

Victor had assured her she looked incredible. She'd piled her freshly dyed hair on her head in a curled mass, a dress dripping in black sequins hugging her curves. It covered her collar to ankle, shoulder to wrist; but boasted a scooped back, displaying her symmetrical scars on her shoulder blades. Despite the leers of men sliding up and down as she walked, she felt completely out of place. He had left her by herself to go and find the Don, congratulate him personally. She fumbled with the champagne flute in her fingers, getting lost in the endless bubbles popping in the beverage. She had never felt herself in crowds. 

"Aggie?" She was surprised to hear a near forgotten nickname, spoke in a woman's voice from behind her. She turned, and laid eyes on the kind former therapist of the life she had tried to lead. 

"Dr.Thompkins," she spoke with surprise; she too was dressed in finery, looking as lithe and beautiful as she always did. "I-I... it's been awhile." 

"It has," her doctor matched her tone; there was an awkward pause, but she filled it with a quick hug; Agneta couldn't recall the last time she'd let anyone but Victor get so close to her. "You look lovely;  what brings you here?" 

"Ah, I'm a plus one," she said sheepishly with a shrug. "I'm embarrassed to say I don't even know the happy couple." 

Her doctor -friend?- laughed, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Well, you know about half of them," she smiled and raised her left hand, a gorgeous ring perched on her finger. Agneta's mouth fell open, wide eyed.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, a relaxed smile forming on her mouth. "Oh congratulations!" 

"Thank you, Aggie," nobody had called her that in ages. "I'm glad to see you, really. I heard how things ended at the GCPD..." she trailed off, another awkward pause wiggling into their conversation. Agneta swallowed and gave a short nod. 

"It wasn't pretty... I can honestly say I'm happier for it now," she allowed a grin to pass over her face, as did a blush in her cheeks. "I've got steady work, and... and I'm in love." It felt strangely sweet, admitting her feelings to someone. She and Victor had never shared the words, but she knew what was there; what didn't need saying. Still, telling Dr.Thompkins was like spilling a private little secret; it felt delicious and just a little bit wrong.

The doctor gave her a kind smile. "Then congratulations to you too, Aggie. And please, call me Lee."

"Thank you Lee. I hope your marriage is a happy one," she gave her new friend another brief hug. "You deserve the truest happiness." 

The two women stood a moment before a server came to whisk off the party hostess; Agneta had been honestly pleased to see her. Despite being unable to share with her all that had happened in her life when she'd first arrived, she was still grateful to have found friendship in her. For a moment, she felt again like the girl in the golden dress, covered in blue flowers. 

 

"Congrats, Mario," Victor's cool tone and unwavering face looked into the groom's as he shook his hand. "Many happy years." 

"Thank you Victor." The Don's son replied, his wide mouth smiling. His father stood  behind him at the bar, an inordinately expensive wine being poured for him. Victor was glad to be free of the good Doctor as he walked to greet other guests; something about the boy had always rubbed him the wrong way. He was far happier to see his father, extending his arms out with a grin as he approached him. 

"Boss," he chuckled as he gave the older man a hug, patting his back. "Congratulations. Another Doctor in the family."

"Thank you Victor. We're all very pleased to welcome Lee into our circle," Falcone had a way of speaking that commanded the ears of all those around him. He swirled his glass, letting the wine breath. "She'll make an excellent daughter in law." 

"No doubt," he agreed, leaning his elbow against the bar. "Quite a shindig, too; you always knew how to party." 

The old boss gave him a smile and a low laugh, patting his hitman's shoulder. "I try," his tone dropped low, scanning the room. "So which one is she?" 

Victor grinned and found her in the crowd, tipping his chin in her direction. Stood under the light of a window, she glittered, her mouth smiling to a waiter handing her a drink. "Right there," he said, Falcone's eyes falling on her. "Gorgeous, eh?" 

The retired mob boss gave a nod of approval. "She's lovely," he turned his head to his former employee, who's gaze hadn't left her. "An old friend, if I'm not mistaken." 

"That's right," Victor replied, turning the rings on his fingers. "She's really something; smart, stunning, funny. And you should see her work," he chuckled and licked his lips. "What a dame." 

"Careful Victor, someone might think you're smitten," Falcone couldn't remember his cold blooded killer acting this way; he'd always been stoic, finding amusement and joy in his work; never with others. "She must be special."

"She is," Victor finally tore his eyes from her, turning to Don Falcone who wore a knowing smile on his lips. "She's everything I could want... I love her." He was shocked to hear the words on his lips. He hadn't been certain he would find her again, but having done so he had learned what he'd always suspected to be true. He couldn't be without her. She wasn't the girl who he knew in his youth; if anything she was more. More he'd always want. 

"Very touching, Victor. I hope you've told her the same," one of Falcone's men wandered up to the old boss, whispering something in his ear. "Apologies; my guests. Bring her by before you leave," Victor nodded in agreement, as Falcone looked back to the red haired woman. "Parties like this... makes you think about your future, hm?" 

"Come on now boss; I can't give her all this," he gestured to the opulent throngs around them. "Not in my line of work." 

"Why not? I did." Don Falcone left him with that. He pondered a moment, before going to join his date. 

It was later in the evening when Agneta finally shook hands with Victor's former boss. He was almost unassuming in his mannerisms, but the way the crowd treated him spoke to a well earned respect. 

"Miss Haven," he had a gruff voice but spoke with the grace of a gentleman. "Pleasure to meet you; Victor has been going on about you." 

She smiled at the older man, then at her lover; he was by her side beaming with pride. "I could say the same of you, Don Falcone. Victor has been singing your praises for weeks," she grasped Victor's hand and he brought hers to his lips, applying a kiss. "May I say thank you for looking after him while I was... unavailable." She was never sure how to phrase 'I was incarcerated for 10 years' in polite conversation. 

"Easy enough to do with Victor; he's always been so capable," Don Falcone gave a small smile at the pair of them. "I'm glad to see him opening up, though. I don't think I've ever seen him like this." This was true; even in their early years Victor had been wild, reckless and hedonistic; he still was, but a tenderness had found its way into his personality. 

"He has the same effect on me," she watched the older man's face, the man who'd ran Gotham. "Oh and may I say congratulations on your son's engagement. I knew Lee some time ago,  she's so lovely." 

"Oh? How do you know her?" She found herself slightly thrown off; perhaps she shouldn't have said anything.

"She was my... psychologist. It was part of my work contract, after my time in prison." Agneta was surprised to hear the truth spilling from her lips. 

"I see," Falcone nodded, offering a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Well, what's important is you're here now. New day, isn't it?" 

She allowed a little hopefulness into her heart, as a raucous yelling came from the stairwell. Falcone moved to leave, and out of habit Victor followed. Agneta broke through the crowd to find him glaring over the bannister at the scene on the landing below. There stood Lee Thompkins, visibly upset as Don Falcone joined her at her side; a desperate and worried looking Jim Gordon standing before them. Victor's hand was clenched at Agneta's waist, an equally measured anger in her eyes, staring at the man she believed responsible for outing her daliance. Her nails clawed at the marble bannister, seething with rage. She could barely make out the words exchanged between the three, but it was a short encounter. Falcone had little patience for him, it seemed. As the detective moved to leave he caught a glimpse of Agneta, resplendent in red above him; he stopped, finding himself at a loss. What could he possibly say? He pursed his mouth and shook his head, taking his leave. 

She turned her lips to his ear. "I'd like to go home, Victor." He gave a quick nod, his hand at the small of her back guiding her away.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor being sweet and protective!?

Her most recent victims had seen an excess of violence and mutilation. In their faces she saw Jim Gordon, screaming and crying for mercy; it was about as close she could get to the real thing. With no short work she ripped them apart. 

It was during one such workday for her that Victor chose to discuss these actions. He made his way down to the warehouse district, picking out one of Penguin's properties which he had all but signed over to Agneta. He found her inside, leant over her latest art project. She was in the midst of disection out the respiratory system of the man below her; sedatives and numbing agents laid next to her, the heart still beating in her hand. 

"Hello Victor," she called absentmindedly, selecting a straight pin from her kit, slowly pressing it into the vital muscle she held. She'd become accustomed to him coming to visit her during her sessions, making plans for dinner or just spending free time together. "Finished for the day?"

"Light workload today; life isn't terrible for the King of Gotham," he shrugged, looking over the man on the tarpaulin below. He groaned in pain as another pin entered his heart. "Oh hey Evgeny. Things didn't work out too well with the treason I see." The man couldn't respond; his tongue was dead next to his head. 

"Penguin doesn't mess around," she smiled, twisting a pin as she slid it in deep. His body twitched under her; she'd hit something important. "Was there anything I could do for you?" 

"Wanted to have a chat, actually," he sat himself by the edge of the tarp, careful not to cross it. "Couldn't help but notice you getting particularly creative, ever since the engagement party." 

"I can't say I've noticed a difference," she lied, not wanting to meet his gaze.  She knew what he was talking about; given her talents, she wasn't at much risk of being reprimanded for letting her emotions get the better of her. But he had noticed, and she guessed he knew why. 

"You know I don't appreciate you lying," his tone was cold and stoic, never one to mess around with his terms. "I get the feeling seeing Jim Gordon set your teeth on edge. Tell me if I'm getting warm here?" 

She answered in silence, simply selecting a fresh pin to press into the muscle. He ground his teeth but continued. 

"I don't understand why you're so irked at him," Victor said softly; it caused Agneta's head to whip around to face him. 

"You don't understand?" She repeated, her brow knitting together. "He sold me out to the new Captain; sold us out. I begged him not to--" 

"See, I don't see the issue here," he threw his hands up as he shook his head. "How long would you have told yourself you were normal? Healthy?" He was making a good point. 

"It's not about that," she spat, her fingers driving in another pin; the heart had ceased all movement but still she sank them in. "I pleaded for him not to tell anyone; who I fuck and who I love should be up to me. He stole that. He made it wrong," she dug her nails into the heart, tearing at it. "He made me feel shameful. Letting myself feel good was shameful." 

He stared at her with a soft gaze. He was surprised by her reasoning, but he knew how she was feeling. With 10 years worth of torture telling her everything about her life had been wrong, her life with him was wrong, and beating herself to conform to the tiny box normalcy required, she felt he'd ruined everything. He recalled the detective's words from the day she disappeared: 

'I didn't tell anyone anything.'

In his experience, Jim Gordon was a straight shooter. He avoided lying if he could help it, even in having dealings with Penguin. He had long wondered if he had told him the truth in that empty apartment. 

The silence was disrupted by his distinctive ring tone; he retrieved it from his jacket, taken aback to see the Don's number across the screen. 

 

"Zsasz," he answered as Agneta picked a rag out of her kit, wiping off her hands. The heart muscle had been shredded past recognition. "I see," she wondered what he was talking about and with who. "Got it." He snapped his device shut, tucking it back into a pocket. 

"What'd Penguin need?" She asked, beginning to retrieve her pins. 

"Wasn't the bird; Mario Calbi," he corrected her. "Needs a favour done. Far be it from me to tell a man no on his wedding day."

"What does he want?"

"Just needs me to hold Gordon for a couple of hours. Should put me home before dark." He piqued her interest, watching him stand to his full height, adjusting his clothing. 

"Mind if I come along? I could help." She asked, blinking her lashes sweetly. 

"Darling with how you looked at him last time, I'm pretty damn sure you'd tear him apart," he ruffled her hair, though she pouted as she stood. "Just me this time." 

He pulled her close; a tender hold around her, more gentle than she could ever recall him being. His hand smoothed her hair, long against her back. Falcone's words had stuck in his brain as they so often did; but he knew her past clung to her so fiercely still. There were more plans to be made.  

"I'll see you at home, Victor." She breathed against his chest, eyes closing a moment before he pulled away to leave. She thought for a moment she heard him speak; but it was too silent for her to hear.

 

Perched on the back of an opulent sofa in some swanky hotel suite, Victor trained his pistol on Jim Gordon. Mario had just left, muttering something about his wedding and his soon to be wife hating the detective; he hadn't really been listening. His eye was on his watch, counting the minutes until Jim was allowed to leave. 

"Victor please, lives are at stake here," the detective had a harsh, pleading tinge in his voice. "You don't understand; Lee is in incredible danger-"

"That's nice," he replied carelessly. Time spent here meant time away from Agneta; something he yearned for more as of late. He glanced at Gordon, then back at the time piece. Not long now. 

"I'm just trying to protect her; I know you know how that feels," Jim tried reasoning with the merc. "To protect someone you love."

Victor raised a hairless brow to him; he'd hit a nerve. "Really Jim? You want to get into this right now?" He stepped from his place, heavy boots thudding against the floor as he closed in on him. "You want to be the one to tell me how to keep someone safe?" The barrel of his gun was inches from Jim's face. "I couldn't find her for months. I searched and searched. All because of you," the ice in his tone was palpable as he cocked his head to one side. "I could bump you off right now, Jim;  would solve so many problems. She'd be so happy." 

Jim swallowed, eyes flitting between the weapon and the man holding it. "Victor I swear, I never told anyone what I saw that day," his voice was confident, speaking the truth. "I swear on my life. She was a good person... I know the importance of second chances." 

Victor rolled his eyes, walking backwards to his place, pistol still on Jim. "She doesn't even care about that now," he scoffed, chewing on his lip. "You spilled to the boss; just when she was learning to feel good again," his eyes were narrow slits on the man across from him, fury brewing in him. "She could've done both. But no, straight lace Jim Gordon couldn't have that!" A cold, sarcastic laugh left his lips.

"I didn't say anything," Jim reaffirmed his statement, knowing very well it was true. As soon as Nathaniel Barnes came into the Captain's position, he cleaned house; ousted any cops known to be dirty, wouldn't have criminals associated with his force. He'd had one look at Agneta's file and she was done; despite all the work she'd put into the GCPD. Jim often found himself worrying over her; if he'd stood up before she was dismissed, would she have returned to her past life? "I know you probably won't believe me... but she did good work, she was trying to be better. I wasn't going to ruin that." 

"Right." Victor was a brick wall again, eyes on his watch; just a few minutes left.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know how this got so out of order! Sorry guys

It was pushing 8:00 pm by Agneta's count; she watched the hours tick by on the clock hanging over Victor's mantel; Felix the Cat's eyes rocked back and forth in rhythm with the seconds, the obnoxious little icon annoying her to no end. She poked at the folded cardboard of her takeaway with chopsticks; her appetite had left her when the street lights flickered on. 

She shot Penguin's prerequisite photos before leaving her project, dropping them off at the mayoral offices between picking up Chinese food on the way home. She was curled against the plush leather couch, impatiently awaiting her man. It wasn't unusual for Victor to be out til all hours, but when he made a promise he rarely went back on them. In these moments she felt nearly like a stranger in his house; it wasn't their home. She wondered if anywhere would ever feel like it was theirs, and not just something temporary; whenever she tried to steady herself somewhere she would find herself violently uprooted, like an unwanted weed. Would the same happen here? 

She snapped from her uncertain cloud of worry as she felt the locks on the door engage. She sprang from her spot and made for the door; Victor tumbled in, looking disheveled and annoyed; his forehead boasted a purplish lump topped with a slight gash. 

"Victor!" She jolted, her hands flying up to the cut at his brow. He caught one of her wrists, pressing his mouth to her palm. 

"Hi, gorgeous," he grunted and winced as her fingertips grazed the wound, sensitive and stinging. "Sorry I'm late."

"What the hell happened to you?" She disregarded his apology, taking a closer look at the injury; blood had been wiped away.

"Went and got myself pistol whipped," he shook his head, walking past her and collapsing onto the couch. He groaned before leaning forward, picking up one of the takeout boxes. "Stupid mistake; did you get mushu pork?" He barely paid mind to the bruised flesh, digging through the options before finding his favourite. Agneta pursed her lips and moved to the kitchen, soaking a cloth and wringing it before returning to him. She knelt beside him, careful around his famished eating as she dabbed at the opening, cleaning it as best she could. 

"It shouldn't take too long to heal," she decided, tossing the cloth to the table. "A couple butterfly bandages should hold you." She fell back and retrieved her food, eyes glued to the gash.

"Yeah it hurt my pride more than my head," his lip curled as he paused. "Gordon got the drop on me; spry old thing," He looked over to see her face furious, heat rising in her cheeks. 

"Hm almost like you could've used an extra hand." She muttered as she took a bite. He gave her a strained look, but ultimately leant over and kissed her forehead. 

"I turned out fine, sweetcheeks," he sighed, pulling the box from her hands. He set it on the table as he pulled her onto is lap, fingers laced at her back. "See? Just fine. Feeling peachy." 

Her hands found his cheeks, staring into the dark pools of his eyes. It was by no means the worst she'd ever looked after on him; but it was the first here in Gotham. She studied his face; the years showed this close up, little creases and wrinkles that came with age. "You have to come back," she whispered, pressing her lips to his.  "Every time. I can't..."her words trailed, unable to explain her feeling in its entirety. 

"I came back tonight," he replied, tugging her flush against his body. "I always will. Like I said, you're stuck with me," his hand wriggled between them, pressing against the fresh red scar on her middle. "Nobody is going to get in the way of that." She breathed with relief at the steady confidence in his touch. Despite knowing his power, the fear of being separate from him again was overwhelming. When had he become her world again? 

"Victor, I just--"

"Hush," he ordered firmly, hands moving to her backside as he stood, her legs wrapping around him. "I promise. I'll always come back to you, and for you." He moved across his home, Agneta having leant her head into his shoulder. She noticed however when they didn't begin their ascension to his bedroom; no, instead they found themselves in front of a heavy door, a handful of locks on it. 

"What are you doing?" She asked as he fiddled with the locks, arm wrapping around her to keep still. 

"You need a distraction," the door swung open to reveal a set of concrete steps descending into darkness. Victor walked it with practiced precision, their journey ending in his basement. "I'm going to help you with that." there was mischief in his tone as he set her down, his hand finding a click chain to the only light in the room.

It was dim but Agneta picked out a steel exam table equipped with straps, a wheeled cart with what looked like shiny, sharp objects was pushed against a wall. She could barely make out the silhouettes of various guns and pistols hung on the undone bricks. He caught her off guard as he yanked her shirt over her head aggressively, doing the same with her pants and underwear. 

"Victor!" She scolded, hands running up to cover her breast; she didn't know what for. "Don't go thinking you can fuck the worry out of me--" He gripped her wrists, dark eyes stern and confident. 

"Oh I think I can," he snarled, dragging her to the steel table; the metal was ice cold against her back, the restraints heavy, leather and used. "I'll make you forget; at least for tonight," he left to grab the cart and it squeaked over with him; beyond the scalpels and knives were far more sexual instruments; long toys, short toys, gags, beads, and what she remembered to be one of his favourites; a speculum. He grinned, seeing her recognition in her face. "You remember how I like this one, don't you?" He growled, fingers dancing over the tool. "We'll work our way up to that. For now, just relax." He picked out a ring gag, strapping it around her head, catching a few hairs in its clasp. She groaned in response; the gag kept her from proper speech, but she couldn't deny the heat pooling between her legs. 

Victor simply smiled, removing his rings and setting them aside. His fingers delved into her excitedly, pleased to find her already slick. "Oh somebody's ready to get going, aren't they cupcake?" He chuckled low in his throat as two of his digits thrusted into her; her incapacitated body writhed under him, wordless noises leaving her lips. His thumb found her clit, applying forceful pressure as his fingers curled inside her pussy, eliciting further moans for him. "There's a good girl." His hand near coated in her fluids now, he squeezed in a third finger; she had always loved the full, bursting feeling it caused. She nearly shrieked in pleasure as he did so, his second hand grasping and groping at her breast, her nipple rolling between his fingers. 

"Isn't this better than worrying?" He cooed, relishing the tears of joy forming in her eyes. "I'm right here, sweetheart; can't you feel me?" He laughed as her hips ground up against him, as much as she could with her ankles strapped down. 

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and despite her concern her mind was beginning to grow blank with lust and craving; he knew her too well, every corner of her body and which ones to excite. He grinned down at her, the light above casting his shadow over his busy hands, feeling her begin to crush down on his fingers. "So soon, Agneta? Pace yourself," he breathed as her body arched off the table, climaxing over his digits, her eyes rolled back with over stimulation. Still he didn't stop, rubbing her little bundle of nerves raw. "The night is young, and we have so much to play with."

 

He made good on his word. She fell in and out of consciousness the whole evening, her body overwhelmed by orgasms countless times; any moment she was lucid she would moan and scream for him, begging for more and more; as much as she could while gagged. It was like a waking dream; she would blink and he would be at the end of the table, sliding a set of toys inside her aching cunt, blink again and he would be on her, thrusting, emptying himself into her. She shivered and yelped when he inserted the one medical grade tool from his playthings; the sight of her, opened up, his white seed coating her pink, swollen walls had always been a favourite sight of his. Her body finally gave out under this sensation, mind completely clear of any thoughts of danger. Some promises were far easier to keep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Zsasz tonight! Good god he just gets better and better.

The first sensation Agneta recognized as she woke was warmth; her body shifted slightly, realizing she was now in his bed, tucked in under black blankets. The second feeling was pain. She gasped as she went to twist her hips, a burning ache shooting from her core; it was an after effect of a night's worth of 'play' with Victor. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before, yet it didn't help the throbbing between her thighs. She managed to wriggle her way onto her back, suddenly noticing she was alone. She could glimpse a beam of sunlight through his curtains; it was definitely later in the day. She craned her neck around, trying to see if he had been there recently; eyes falling on to a scrap of paper on the bedside table. 

She just managed to reach it without much excess pain, pulling it back to read the words scrawled across it: 

Out. Be back later. Told Oswald it's your day off. Rest.

-V 

For as little as he communicated verbally, his notes were even more unyielding. She set the paper aside, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers to the freshest scar on her body; the V he marked her with. They had talked about it in their youth; more he had prodded her to let him do it, she had told him no. She had been more reckless in those days, if that were possible; had told him she didn't want the next guy she fucked staring at his brand. It had just been to get a rise out of him - even then the love she felt for him had been fierce and all encompassing. At that time, she believed she was scared; scared he didn't feel as deeply as she did, that once that final scar was on her flesh, he'd be gone to mark the next one. 

She smiled to herself there, fingers dancing over the puckered lines. He wasn't going to leave; had sworn it to her. It had felt honest, the way he looked into her eyes and promised his life to her. There was a trust between them now that hadn't been before; perhaps it was their age, not wanting to fool around with the uncertainty of youth, or perhaps it was their years apart, only solidifying their feelings for the other. Whatever the case was, her surroundings were beginning to feel more permanent. Maybe she could see a life here; a shared life. Her eyes shut once more, her body still needing far more rest. His smile was on her mind just as she drifted off. 

She woke again sometime later to the mattress compressing next to her. She opened her eyes to see Victor over her, eyes hard and staring. He had stripped from his day wear; a loose tank top and sweats graced him now. His scars stood out prominently, his most recent still scabbed and healing. 

"Hi," she breathed, wincing as she pushed herself up to a seated position. He watched her with a strange intensity, his face a mask. She raised her brows at him, wondering what set him off. "What's wrong?" 

"Jim took out Mario," he stated, as nonchalantly as stating the weather. Her eyes grew wide, hands flying to her mouth. "Falcone is beside himself. He's..." she'd never seen him at such a loss for words as his eyes dropped away. Victor had no family to speak of, at least none he'd ever admitted to. Yet in this instance he looked legitimately concerned. She grabbed his hand, grasping so tightly she could hear his knuckles crack. 

"He'll pay," Agneta promised, glare furious and certain. "Jim won't walk away from this one." 

"I never really cared for Mario, but the chief is just distraught," Victor shook his head, Falcone's words to him screaming in his mind. "It's just timing now. Once he calls for his head, he's done." He looked back to the woman in his bed; red hair messy and tangled, body still bruised and marked from the last evening; scars silver from their life together. At the moment, all he could focus on was the knotted skin at her shoulder, the gun shot that had separated them. The thought of it was stomach churning; he couldn't lose her twice. When had she become his world again? 

"Why wait? If we know he killed him, let's get to him now! I can be ready i--"

"Agneta that isn't how this works. You don't get to the top of the heap by killing whoever pissed you off that day," for all he loved about her, she let her emotions drive her. "That's not how we conduct business here." 

"What business!? Why wait to kill him? If the boss already knows there's no reason to wait," she was already imagining the ways she could pull Jim apart. "Why can't we just take care of it now?" 

Victor's hands found his face, rubbing it in irritation. He'd learned in decade of mob work that patience was just as effective as work ethic. "Fuck, Agneta; you think I got here by killing on favours?" Her stare fell away from him. "You take someone out before it's ordered, you don't get fucking paid. Simple." 

She looked at him like she had no idea who he was. She struggled to remember that he was not the vicious, daredevil murderer she once knew; he'd grown sensible, mature. He'd been free to do so. 

"Whatever happened to an eye for an eye? You act like Falcone is family, wouldn't you kill for your family?" She retorted, heat rising in her face. "At the very least you could kill him for me." 

Victor's jaw tensed, eyes firey. "Do you think I've managed to keep myself out of prison this long by killing whoever? High risk, high reward cupcake. You want us to stay comfortable here? You kill when you're told." 

Despite the pains in her center she hauled herself out of bed, making her way to the bag she'd been living out of in corner of his room. 

"What the hell are you doing?" He demanded as she withdrew a jumpsuit from her belongings, stepping into it hurriedly. "Agneta stop." 

"Why, because you told me to?" The venom in her voice would have killed a normal man. "I'm not going to waste my talents on just painting when I'm told," she threw her coat over her shoulders, struggling with her boots. "Ars Gratia Artis and all that bullshit." 

He was on her in seconds; her back flying against his black wall, his body pressed to hers. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He growled, prompting her again. His fingers dug hard into her arms, almost bruising. "You're not going anywhere, Agneta. You're stuck with me." He was as enraged as he was scared; he couldn't lose her again. 

She struggled under his grip, glaring up at him. He still had a temper. "I'm not here to just do what I'm told; I want my freedom! If I'm just to be paraded out to paint like some parlor act I may as well still be locked up." 

His grip on her relaxed; he was still having issues with adjusting to the new version of her; he couldn't wrap his mind around her being trapped for so long, the so called justice system trying to beat out every ounce of what made her so perfect. "I'm not telling you to be a show pony," he tried to speak gently, but it only came out as annoyed. "I'm asking you to be patient. The cash on his head will have us sitting pretty for months; think about our future," There was some truth in what he said, and a dull warmth squirmed into her heart to hear him concerned for their life ahead. Her eyes were softer on him now, but her expression was still angered. "I'm asking you think before you act." 

"Fine," she conceded, shaking free of his hands. "Can we at least go rattle his cage?" She pouted up at him, eliciting a little giggle in his throat. 

"Let's do it, cupcake. I can give you that one," his palms cupped her face, kissing her quickly. She nipped at his lip, just hard enough to draw a drop of blood. She sucked at it as her eyes remained wide, challenging his own, hardly opened. 

"I'm still going to kill when I want, Victor," she breathed, her hand clasping the back of his head. "But I'll try to be more patient with the ones that pay." 

"Great!" He gave a nod, licking up the excess drops from his mouth. "Let's go do a little charming, hm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapters guys; we're slowly winding down to the homestretch. I want to thank everyone for reading thus far and I hope you enjoy the ending I've drempt up for Agneta and Victor; only a few chapters to go!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time mixing a canon scene into my writing so let me know what you think :)

Jim heard them before he saw them; the distinctive sound of metal and glass coming from his kitchen. He drew his weapon and proceeded through his dingy apartment, finding two of the most notorious killers in Gotham drinking his milk. 

"Hey Jim," Agneta's voice was cold and stoney, her eyes narrowed on the detective. 

"Hope you don't mind, we helped ourselves." Victor breathed a little laugh as he set down the glass bottle, near empty. 

"What are you doing here, Zsasz?" Agneta prickled as he moved nearer. 

"Relax, we're only here as messengers," Victor held up his hands, displaying empty palms. "As much as she wishes otherwise." 

Her glare did not leave Jim; she could practically see her nails sinking into his neck, he knives cutting loose his bowels.

"You messed up, Jim," Victor raised his brows, an arm instinctively wrapping around his love's waist. "Killed the Don's son; he's beside himself," Agneta draped her arm across his shoulder. "Never seen him like this." 

"I want to talk to him, explain--"

"Oh you're way past that," she hissed, mentally dissecting him. "It's only a matter of time before the Don gives the order to put a bullet in your head. Then if we're lucky, he'll give you to me," she took a confident step towards the detective. "You'd be my finest work." 

"You could try." Jim was gruff but staunch in his bravery. Victor's muscles tensed, his jaw set.

"We don't try, and we never stop," Victor's voice was hollow and serious. He joined Agneta, now mere inches from Jim. "You won't see us coming and you won't feel a thing." 

"Pity." She stuck out her bottom lip in mock sadness, craving nothing more than for him to feel every type of pain. 

"Agneta, please; you must see reason in this," Jim had lowered his weapon, beseeching his former coworker. "He was about to kill Lee, there was no other way."

"I don't know why you're pleading to me, Jim," she gave him a face of confusion. "What's a lowly little sketch artist going to do help?" 

"Easy tiger," Victor reigned her in, clicking his tongue. "If we don't talk before then, Jim, it's been... really nice knowing you." Agneta was surprised to hear the sincerity in his tone. "You're a good egg." 

"A goody goody more like..." she mumbled under her breath. Victor reached out and gave one of her long tresses a sharp tug. 

"Jim, given you'll likely be dead the next time we see you, get your words out." Victor cocked his head towards his lover, brows raised. 

Jim grimaced, knowing she would be hard to convince. "Agneta, I never told Captain Barnes a thing. It had crossed my mind, yes, but..." There was sorrow in his tone, and perhaps honesty? "I know first hand you can't help who you fall in love with," her hard glare began to melt, ever slightly. "You were a good person; I didn't want to see your life ruined. Please, believe me." 

Her brows were set in a quizzical expression; she glanced to Victor, then back to Jim. "Why would I believe you?" 

Jim shrugged, a sad little smile on his face. "Why would a dead man lie?" Victor chuckled at this, but she remained silent. He had made a decent point; either she or Victor would put an end to him soon, and she knew Jim to be a truthful man - at least in the time she knew him. She sucked her lips inward, giving a hard look at Jim before sticking her hand out to him.

"When the time comes, I won't desecrate your body above the neck," she muttered, Jim's rough paw taking hers in a shake. "You'll leave a pretty corpse." 

"Thanks?" He responded, a brow raised. Victor threw his arms around the both of them, planting a kiss on her cheek. 

"Everybody's making friends, isn't this cute?" He laughed in his cold little way as his arm dropped from Jim, nudging Agneta towards the door. "Oh and Jim; nice shot on Mario," his voice was twisted and amused, leaning in close to him. "Never liked him." 

Agneta couldn't hold back a giggle as they wandered out of Jim's tiny abode; she honestly believed she had the truth.   
"Do you mind if we pick up someone to kill on the way home? I'm dying for a bath," she looked up at him from under his arm and found him smiling. 

"Sure sugar; we'll share."

 

Victor was stood in Falcone's mansion, barely paying mind to the discussion going on in front of him. Lee and the Don were discussing the details of when Jim should die; she wanted him to suffer. She hadn't bought his story of Mario having a knife, and though they knew now that he had been infected with the Tetch virus, it did nothing to soothe the hurt in her heart. Victor leant against one of the cream coloured walls, awaiting instructions.

"Victor?" Falcone's smooth, cool voice called for him. 

"Chief?" He replied, ready for his directions. 

"It's time. Get it done," Victor gave him a nod and turned to leave. "But find some underlings to help you. Jim is going to be a challenge." 

He gave him a puzzled expression. "Why? Agneta is more than enough." 

"Agneta has her talents, but she works best with captured prey. And Jim will fight back," Falcone was certain of that. "Do you think she could hold up to a man fighting for his life?" 

Victor pursed his lips, upset by the truth in the question; she relied on stealth, and waiting. Jim's schedule would be erratic, uneasy to track. He knew he'd likely have to chase him down and corner him; and what would he do if she was shot again? Would it prove fatal this time? 

"She's not gonna be pleased with that, boss," he crossed his arms. "She wants to stay involved."

"She can do how she likes once you have him, but she's lacking in the experience you have," he had to agree with that. 10 years at this job had given him time to make errors, time they didn't have at the moment. "Don't lose her making mistakes you made years ago." 

"She's gonna be royally pissed," Victor mumbled, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts. He kept a log of decent merc services, folks that needed the money more than they needed to breath. 

"Tell her I asked that she didn't go," Lee joined the conversation, hoping as her friend it might dissuade her from anger. "I'd hate for something to happen to her." 

Victor raised his brows, selecting a number from his list and raising his phone to his ear. "We'll see if that helps." He turned and left as the call was answered, reeling off the particulars of what he needed.


	29. Chapter 29

In the same moment, Agneta had found herself in Penguin's Manor, picking up a fresh dossier of people he needed killed in her special way. She had grown tolerant of the strange little man, perhaps even bordering on fond. 

"Any particulars on these, Os?" She asked, scanning the names - he would write out the name of the intended, adding in the reason for their death; thief, traitor, opposition. 

"No, the usual is fine. Just do your worst," he waved a hand dismissively, pouring over papers and filed strewn across his desk. Normally Ed would've kept things neat, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

"Where's your better half?" She asked, a nervous blush colouring his face.

"Ed is... away, currently," Oswald was never good at lying when it came to loved ones. "Vacation. Feeling worn out."

"Uh huh," she replied, folding up her slip of paper and storing it in her coat. She moved past the desk to stand next to Penguin, clearly disturbed by the closeness. "Well, if you need a hand getting him back from vacation, you feel free to call me." 

Oswald was put off guard; for someone who's life was tied so tightly with Victor Zsasz, she was incredibly unlike him. "Thank you," he rasped, gathering a stack of papers to neaten them. "Your services are very much appreciated." 

She gave him a soft smile before making her way out of his office; as she opened the door she came face to face with a blue eyed blonde, dressed to kill. 

"Oh; I didn't realize you had company, Ossie," the sneer in her voice was palpable. "I can come back when you aren't busy." 

"I was just leaving," Agneta cut in, noticing the frustration building in Oswald's face. "I'll let you know when it's done, boss."

"Wait!" The blond demanded, perfect eyebrows arching in her direction. "I don't think we've been introduced. Barbara Kean." She stuck out her hand in such a way it seemed like she expected Agneta to kiss it rather than shake. She elected to do neither. 

"Heathen." She replied; her real name was only for friends. Barbara's mouth opened in mock surprise. 

"Oh, you're Heathen," there was malice dripping in sweetness as she spoke. "Zsasz's main squeeze. Aren't you a little cutie?" She grinned, looking her up and down. 

She was put off by the idea that people knew her through Victor; that someone would try and get to him through her. "Thanks," she leaned in close to the smug blonde, glaring through her lashes. "You know I'd love to paint you sometime." She grinned wide, Barbara's face flashed a hint of confusion for a moment. 

"That's enough, Heathen!" Penguin squawked, rising from his desk. "Barbara and I have business to discuss. Leave us."   
Heathen glanced back to her boss, a mild laugh leaving her throat as she turned; her hair grazing against the blonde's face as she left. 

She mulled over the undercurrent of the exchange as she made her way to the first target's location. They were strong together yes, but Victor had years to hone his skills; he'd progressed so much further than she had, she wondered if she'd ever catch up. A nauseous feeling found her stomach as the question of whether she did more harm than good entered her mind. She tried to shake it, assuring herself that she could still be an asset to him and worth his time. For now, she had painting to do.

 

Jim had a real talent for knocking Victor unconscious. He came to on the floor of an industrial kitchen, the staff having deserted the premises. He hauled himself up, his head pounding; he hoped thus wouldn't lead to another concussion. He cast his eyes over to the women he'd hired to help him land the detective; dead and riddled with bullet holes. Why was help so hard to find these days? 

He left the bodies there, annoyed to no end. He caught a glimpse of himself in the polished metal of an oven; his forehead was already beginning to bruise.

"Fuck," he cursed his mistake, heading out to leave. She was going to be livid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter guys; need the right structure for what's coming tomorrow. I hope yall will bear with me!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...

Agneta slid down against the bathroom tile, curling into a ball against the black ceramic floor. She could hardly breathe; couldn't think. Her eyes were wide as saucers, staring at nothing. 

"How...?" She barely breathed the question out, no one there to answer. It didn't make any sense. She thought back to her time in the institution, just after the first time she had grown aggressive with the other inmates and staff; she'd torn out the throat of someone. She remembered slipping in and out of consciousness, injections into her side. 

'This is what happens when you're crazy,' the doctors told her. 'We don't need any more of you on the outside.' They kept saying that anytime they administered her injection; the same spot, every time. Her muscles weakened over time, her body losing its strength. She caught the name of her punishment across a clipboard once, emblazoned in bold black letters:

CHEMICAL CASTRATION - FEMALE DOSE

Every other week, for as long as she stayed there, she got her dosage. And yet here she was, staring at a pregnancy test, a tiny, defiant plus sign staring back at her from the plastic window. 'This isn't possible,' she thought to herself, unable to find her voice or even strength to lift her body. 'This can't be right. Something else must be going on.' Still there it laid, that little plastic stick, proving her wrong. She couldn't even grasp the idea of motherhood; not with her work, not with who she was - much less who the father was. 

"Oh god, Victor," a sob left her mouth at how he would react. He loved fiercely, but his life demanded someone who could keep up with him; he never slowed down, he never stopped. How could she go to him like this? After all she'd said about staying with him, treating her so preciously; she truly felt like glass now, inches away from shattering. 

How would even react to it? Her breathes quickened in terror, the world around her suddenly cold and stone still. Her heart felt like ice, stomach like a knot; Victor was at the top of his game, nobody crossed the notorious assassin. He was the threat mob bosses used against their subordinates; what part of that said father? What part said parenthood? She imagined him teaching a toddler how to shoot; showing a 3rd grader how to extract teeth with pliers. She shuddered at the thought, unable to help the touching little warmth that entered her icy form. The beast in her was driven mad; caught between giving up the blood and sex she had been gorging it on for months and the possibility of never being separated from Victor again. 

She was thrown from her trance as she caught the faint sound of the front door opening; he was home. She moved at lightning speed, snatching up the confirmation device and hiding it in a pocket. She ran to the sink, switching on the coldest possible water and dunking her face into it; it would help to kill the blotchy nerves across her skin. 

"Agneta? Where are you?" He called, his voice growing nearer. She swept cool droplets back into her hair, dampening and reflected on herself in the mirror; she didn't look quite as mortified. He might buy it. 

"I'm in here, darling," he located her, a towel pressed to her face; the faucet pouring out into the basin. "Just rinsing off the day's dirt." 

"Mm I like you messy," he made to grab her waist, his teeth dragging along her neck. "I could get you dirty again."

She smiled and moved his arms back, praying he didn't feel the plastic rod in her clothes. "Tempting, but there's a hit in the basement with my name on it," that was true; she'd been keeping one of the names on Penguin's list in the cellar for days; periodically feeding him sips of water to keep him kicking. Today was the day he'd die. "Have to get to it. I'm already later getting started than I would've liked." 

He pouted but moved from her path, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Well get to work; I want to turn you inside out tonight." His demand caused a flood in her panties and a chill down her spine. She wouldn't tell him now; she needed to know more first.

 

 

"I would say you're at about eight weeks, Miss Smith," the sleazy, older doctor stated as he handed Agneta a rag with which to wipe off the ooze that coated her belly. She was at the most back wood, unknown clinic she could find, her signature red hair held in secret with a silk mauve scarf. "You'll start showing fairly soon. Should we discuss your...options?" His eyes flicked up and down her body as she sat upright on the examination bench. 

"I... I don't know," she breathed, her heart racing. "H-how is this possible? I... I was chemically castrated," she paused. "By choice." 

"Then your doc didn't give you a full run down of how that goes," the doctor set the ultrasound wand back in its place on the machine, the little bean growing inside her still flickering on the screen. "Chemical castration eventually wears off if the shots or pills stop. They didn't keep it up, so you're fertile ground again," The doctor put on his most professional expression, staring hard at Agneta. "If you want to get rid of it it's gonna cost you a few bills."

"I don't know what to do," she admitted; alone and scared she felt like a child again, lost in a sea of doubts and possibilities. "I... my job doesn't allow for much time off, and the father..."

"Bit of a deadbeat?"

"Not in the slightest," that was the most certain answer she'd offered that day. "He's... we do the same job. I don't know if he'd want to raise a child, or if he'd just feel... trapped." 

The old doctor sighed; he'd seen his fair share of philosophical debate in his office over the years. "Look, you seem like a nice girl," he muttered, grabbing a small rectangular card from his desk, along with a pen. "Three things you gotta consider here: cash, crib, and care. If you can't give the kid all three things, then you may want to put it off," he scrawled out a short message across the card. "Here; my office number, and the number of a women's clinic. If you decide to nip this in the bud, give 'em a call." 

Reluctantly she took the card from his pinched fingers, studying the chicken scratch overlapping the printed ink. Everything in her head screamed for her to get rid of it; how are you going to raise a baby? How will you kill with that giant belly, an ankle biter running around? What would Victor do to you if he finds out? Who do you expect to help you? 

Why don't you just do it right now?

Everything told her not to try; but her heart beat on ever steadfast, in a distinctive rhythm. 

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him. 

Once dressed and leaving the clinic, she shoved the note into her coat. At the very least, he needed to know; and sooner or later she'd have to explain her growing stomach.


	31. Chapter 31

Agneta was in Victor's kitchen, doing what she hadn't in years; baking. She longed for a tiny feeling of normalcy, and the simple chemistry of flour, egg and butter made sense to her. She didn't have far to dig for the supplies she needed; for an assassin, Victor kept a remarkably well stocked kitchen. Without any muffin tins she had settled on baking a blueberry loaf; she hoped it would hold up under a knife, not just crumble to pieces. 

As she scrubbed and rinsed the bowls and utensils she'd used in her preparation, her mind wandered once again to her confirmed diagnosis of pregnancy. It was the only thing she had been more careful about in her youth; taking precautions before sex, holding up pharmacies for birth control when she and Victor had become an item. She admonished her recklessness now; she had always thought - had she ever had a baby - that it would've been by choice. 

In that thought she admitted the only man she ever saw in that scenario was Victor. 

She was pulled from her stupor at the ringing of a phone; her phone, Victor was insistent on getting for her. It contained only a few contacts, but it allowed her to locate him whenever she needed. She retrieved it and flipped it open.

"Heathen." She spoke into the receiver.

"And just where have you been!?" Penguin's shrill voice eminated from the phone, practically shaking the device. 

"Oh, h-hi Oswald." She spoke softly; it only just occurred to her the appointment she had standing with her boss.

"Oh hi? That's what you have to say?" He spat, brimming with irritation. "You know Victor I know to be inconsistent, but at least he's quick about his work; what's your excuse!" 

"Apologies, Oswald; I haven't really been feeling myself lately," she tried to reason with him. 

"Not feeling yourself!? Really? Agneta I don't care if your feet are about to fall off, you work for me, you make your appointments, you kill who you're supposed to! I swear--" 

"Oswald I'm pregnant." She blurted it out, not fully realizing what she'd shared until it was out of her mouth. The silence was deafening in the ear piece, she couldn't even hear him breathing; she began to think he'd outright hung up on her. 

"Well that's fantastic," his words were dripping in sarcasm. "I don't know why you're telling me, it's obviously not mine." 

"Of course not; it's Victor's." There was a cold excitement enveloping her body now, like slipping into a pool on a hot day. 

"Yes I gathered that," Oswald was never one to fuss with other's details. "How long  can you keep working?" 

"I'll be able to hunt for a couple more months, but after that I can only kill if they're brought to me; which I don't expect you to do, obviously!"

"Yes, obviously," Oswald agreed but his voice seethed with fury. "Get over here tomorrow. We'll try and work something out of this mess." 

"Sure thing, boss," she paused. "I...I'm not sure if I'll be keeping it yet... our work doesn't really allow for child rearing." 

"Well Agneta, if everyone let their situations keep them from procreation, we certainly wouldn't be talking right now," he spoke from a place of knowledge, remembering his own mother by herself with him. "Tomorrow." 

The line clicked, leaving her in silence again. She closed her eyes, Oswald having left her with surprisingly wise words. Couldn't any woman admit that they had felt a fear in becoming a mother? In truth it wasn't as if they were ill-equipped to receive another life into theirs; the greater question she faced was whether a child deserved a set of parents like them. They were cold blooded and ferocious in their work, and despite the love they shared, she couldn't grasp the pure, all encompassing love a child needed and deserved; she worried she would resent the baby, should she feel limited; the same went for Victor, if he expected her to become a doting mother in exchange for her passions. 

It was only then she heard the floorboards creak; her eyes shot up to see her black clad Victor standing there, his face a composition of shock and disbelief. He'd been standing there awhile.

"You're pregnant?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUNN DUNN DUNNNNN


	32. Chapter 32

The silence was shattered by the high pitched ding of the oven, finished with its cooking. Agneta would usually have dashed over to pull the contents from its place, but she couldn't take her panicked eyes from Victor. His brow was bent in confusion, his overcoat held tight in his grasp. 

"Hi Victor." She managed to eek out a few words.

"You're pregnant?" He said again, walking heavy steps towards her. "What... what's going on?" 

Her hands tensed and twitched, her nerves spasming in desperation; this wasn't how she had hoped to tell him, not in the slightest. He was side by side with her now, dark eyes studying her for any sign of explanation. She couldn't hide it any longer.

"...yes," she gave in, dipping her head to hide from his gaze. "I'm pregnant."

He reached his hand out for a surface to steady himself; shocked by her news. "H-how... do you know how long?" 

"About eight weeks," she whispered, her stare glued to the porcelain tile. "I went and spoke to a doctor a few days ago... just to find out what I could." 

"My god..." he mumbled, his leather coated palm rubbing the back of his neck. 

"I... I know this isn't a life you want, Victor," she scrambled to make excuses, try and ease his worries. "I-I'm just as frightened, and I know our lives don't really fit with a baby--" 

He swept her into his arms, strong and tight against his chest; his head was nestled into her hair, breathing deep but even. "Shut up," he rasped. "We're getting you out of Gotham."  

She blinked, a cold terror spreading through her heart. "W-what are you talking about?" 

"We'll get you somewhere safe," he elaborated, his hold loosening to look her in the face. "So you can have the baby. My life is too wrapped up in things here, but I can keep you two from getting killed." 

She looked at him indignantly. "I can do that very well myself, thank you! I'm not leaving you again." Her hands gripped at his sleeves, holding on as if he would vanish otherwise. 

"I know you're tough; but what if someone comes after you when you're 9 months along? Do you really think you could run anywhere with 30 pounds strapped to your belly and swollen ankles?" She was surprised he even knew about swollen ankles. 

"I've made it further on worse, Victor; you're not shipping me off!" Finally she broke his grasp, turning her attention to the crisping smell filling the air. "I'm still useful." She muttered, slipping on mitts and rescuing her baking from the oven. 

"Nobody said you weren't!" He cried, throwing his hands up. "What's the matter with my not wanting to see you dead? With not seeing our baby dead?" She huffed as she set the loaf on the counter to rest, turning back to her lover. "I'm not about to be father of the year but I'll be damned if I let our work get you or our kid hurt." 

She looked at him completely baffled. She had vexed over the many different reactions he could have had, but this was nothing she had expected. She watched carefully as he moved to her, her backside pressing lightly against the ledge of the counter. His eyes were hard with confidence, his hand light in her hip while his other held her chin. 

"I'm not leaving, Victor," she spoke firmly; her own eyes burying into his, steadfast in her belief. "You're stuck with me. You won't leave me again - I don't care what I have to do, how deep in hiding I need to be - but I will not leave." 

Victor stared down into her face; stubborn to a fault, beautiful and strong. She was so strong - she had held up to torture for years when he couldn't reach her, when she could've ended the pain in a heartbeat, had she only spoken his name.

But she hadn't. Something in her had kept him safe; she'd bore the worst throughout the years for him and they both knew it. He sighed and rested his forehead against hers, dark eyes boring into her unwavering gaze.  

"You can't stay here." He stated.

"I'm not fucking leaving! You--" 

"Please shut up," he growled, placing his thumb against her lips. "I mean you can't stay here; in this house. It's too open." 

Her anger cooled slightly, allowing her hands to rise against his chest, his heartbeat quick but sure. 

"I think I could manage that," she conceded, watching his face twitch with amusement. "What's so funny?" 

"Hon I'm gonna make it as comfortable as possible, but the place is a fucking dive; and I'll need to get you out of work with Penguin," he confessed, giving a shrug. "I could have you lounging on a beach somewhere, but if you're so stuck on Gotham..." 

"I am. You're not ditching us," she retorted pointedly. Us - it was the first time she'd referred to herself and the child as a cohesive being. He seemed to enjoy this, his grip on her waist tightening. "I've dealt with worse. I can't deal without you again." 

His tongue traced across his lips before he pursed them and gave a surrendering nod. She leaned into him, applying a soft kiss to his mouth, drawing out a slight groan. 

"We'll be okay. All three of us." 

"I know. Daddy won't let anything happen to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O feedback appreciated!!


	33. Chapter 33

Victor strode up the steps of Penguin's Manor with his coldest expression of his features; it spoke to an evil he saved for his most brutal kills. The look on his face nearly shocked the house keeper as she answered the door; pushing past her to find his way to Penguin's office. 

There the little birdman stood, studying maps of the city he had strewn across his desk. He didn't even raise his head at the intrusion, too engrossed in his plans. 

"Boss." Victor spoke in monotone, his face a gleaming mask. At this Penguin finally snapped from his trance, looking up at his assassin; confused it was not the one he'd planned to see. 

"What do you want Victor?" Penguin asked, straightening himself up to his minor height. "Where's Heathen? We have a meeting scheduled." 

"Yeah, she won't be making that," he let his jaw jut out as his eyes fell a moment. "Or any other meeting." 

Penguin's face blotched and his lips squeezed in a tight line. "Oh really? And exactly when did my minions begin to think it was fine to waste my time?" 

He gave a shrug as he stepped forward to the desk. "She won't be thinking much of anything anymore." He reached into the confines of his coat, withdrawing a set of Polaroids. Penguin's eyes widened as he examined the subject matter; in the tiny square frames laid his newest killer, her mass of red hair tangled with pints of her own blood, eyes wide and empty. 

The King of Gotham stared at his hitman with alarm; he didn't seem to react in any way to the photos. "Victor how-- who did this to her?" 

Again he shrugged, his voice icy and unfeeling. "She wanted a little rug rat running around; tugging at my sleeves every other second," he watched his employer's face form a shocked reaction. "Couldn't have that with my line of work. Would make me too vulnerable; too weak." 

Even for Victor Zsasz, the psychopathic gun for hire, this was cold. Penguin could do little more than stare at the pictures; her death at least seemed quick; Victor had shot her through her skull as not to marr her pretty face. He understood his reasoning; feelings did complicate things, as he had learned himself. And yet standing there, eyes locked on her bloody remains, he couldn't help but feel some sadness for her. 

"I see..." Penguin said quietly, setting the snapshots face down; he didn't need to look at them any longer. "Can I assume you'll be taking on her list then?" 

"Sure thing," Victor nodded, a relaxed smirk on his mouth. "No need for that wishy washy art bullshit either. I'll get it done, boss." 

He turned to take his leave. "Victor," Penguin called after him, causing him to stop. "What... what did you do to the bodies?" 

He didn't bother to turn his head. "Burned," he said shortly. "Don't need any evidence lying around, six feet under or otherwise." 

There was a long pause between them, a tense energy shared between the two men. "Well... may she rest in peace." The little bird managed to squawk out. 

"Whatever." Were his final words to the King before vacating his home, eager to be off the grounds. Sliding into his car allowed him to take off at rapid speeds, far and away from his boss. His hand delved into his coat again and withdrew his phone, dialing a singular number. 

"Hey; it's done." 

"Glad to hear it; where do you want her moved?" A harsh, male tone came from the other end. 

"Keep her where she is for now; I'm playing this one pretty close to the chest, buddy." 

"Whatever works for you. You'll put in a good word for me with the boss then?" Wendell had always been eager about hitting the big time in crime. 

"Yeah yeah; I owe you one, man. She comfortable?" He asked. 

"Mmhm; bit stir crazy though. You sure she'll be happy staying in some safe house?" Victor smiled at this; he counted on the fact that she wouldn't. Agneta wasn't the type to be tied down, hiding was never her scene; he hoped he could use this to convince her to leave the city, and thusly gain some extra freedoms.

"Well she says she can, so I'll take her word." He replied, letting his ulterior hopes remain secret. 

"Got it. Women, right?" His old friend laughed through the receiver. 

"Nah, not women; just this one." Victor was always one to clarify on her behalf. Nobody crossed Victor Zsasz; but she did. He didn't bend for anyone; but he bent for her. 

"Damn, Vic; she's really got you around her finger doesn't she?" 

At this he merely chuckled; the pair of them were two equal pieces. He knew she was strong enough to handle her own, and he his; but now with a new life forming into theirs, he was more than willing to move heaven and earth for both of them. 

"I'll be back to pick her up in a few hours. Got a few cuts to make." It crossed his mind how he would explain his scars to his baby when the time came; Agneta could hide hers with little effort, but his would only continue to grow. He still had trouble rationalizing his work with his excitement at becoming a father; he'd spent so many years removing lives from the miserable world around him. What now, made him so elated to bring one into it? 

"We'll see you. She can kick my ass at Scrabble til then." With a laugh the line clicked silent, Victor jetting through the streets to his next kill; his mind heavy with thoughts of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter and maybe a tad predictable; but hope you like ;) 
> 
> Feedback always appreciated!


	34. Chapter 34

The safehouse was beginning to get on her nerves. 

He had been right; the decrepit old shack was meant to be an in between. Even with his adjustments - a proper bed, food, a bath - it wasn't made to be lived in for this long. She spent her days far from the tinted windows, careful not to come into viewing sight, lest the wrong person be looking. Her nights she spent in the basement; safe with many locks, she'd take her vitamins and fall asleep. 

So often without Victor at her side. 

There was war brewing in Gotham, and Victor's talents were put to the test almost every day; he'd see her as often as he could, but assassination could take hours, days. It had been the longest break between seeing him now; 18 days. She'd spent them watching her belly grow, noting the expansion day by day; with four months on her, the swell was becoming noticeable. 

She stared up at the ceiling of the dreary basement, studying the time earned cracks and peeling paint. He'd been gone for far too long; a tiny, hateful part of her suggested he'd forgotten her completely. She hushed it down, her hands moving to cradle her bump; she was eager to feel something, some lively reaction under her palms, but still nothing. 

"Quiet, aren't ya kid?" She asked aloud to the empty room. She pondered what lived inside her, what it would be like when she met it face to face; would she suddenly realize all the maternal qualities she felt were necessary to raise it? She hoped so deeply she would. She rose from her place, moving to the short dresser Victor had supplied her with, opening the top rung to find his clothes there; he'd left a set behind, in case he'd need them. She carefully picked up his crisp black shirt, bringing it to her face and breathed deep, finding his scent. It was colder, dull without his own body producing it, but it was the best she could do for the moment. She inhaled again, only to freeze still, her breath catching; what was that stirring? One of her hands left the garment to cup her belly, waiting for what seemed like ages.

"Oh!" She breathed, feeling the mildest movement from inside of her pressing to her hand. Her eyes brimmed a moment, tossing his shirt around her shoulders as if his arms were draped around her; again her child wriggled, pulling a soft gasp from her lips. 

"I know baby, I miss him too." 

She heard sounds from above; her heart leapt, thinking Victor had come home to her, some kind of kismet drawing him to her. She quickly realized it was not the case as she heard a heavy pounding on the basement door; Victor carried the only keys, aside from her, and they hung around her neck. 

"Fuck! I swear something's down here, that stingy old bastard kept his best shit hidden." An unknown male voice called from above, making her shake with fear. Maybe it was the hormones, but all she could focus on was protecting the baby in her belly. 

"Who the fuck cares? He said kill who we like; how we gonna kill a dead guy?" Another responded to the first. She tried to keep as silent as possible as she opened another drawer, in which she kept a knife; she'd brought it with her in case any such situation would arise.

"We'll fucking get to that!! Can we just do this first!? Hand me the damn crowbar." Her blood ran cold as she heard a sound like splintering wood. On soundless feet she flicked off the glow of her lamp and crept over to the wall by the stair, hiding in the shadows as much as she could. Her body tensed as she say cracks of moonlight begin to stream in from the upper level; they were succeeding in their mission. 

Her mind kicked into survival mode as the darkness was replaced by a rectangular light from the stair, a clear crisp shadow at the top. "Yes!" It exclaimed as it made its descent. She waited until the figure had set a few feet into the room; he was a younger man, clad in some ridiculous clownish outfit. 

"Sherman get down here!! It's pitch bla--" were the last words he ever said as Agneta plunged her blade through the back of his neck, the tip just peeking through the front. For good measure she withdrew it and dragged it across his throat, hazy spurts flying from his neck; it felt like it'd been years since she'd seen so much red.

"Verne? What'd you find?" The second voice called from above; he would have to die as well. She stepped back into shadow as the other man made his way down, exclaiming as he came upon his friend's freshly killed corpse; terror the last thing in his eyes as wild red hair sprang towards him, knife sinking into his chest over and over again. 

By the time her arm finally slowed, the man's body laid below her, his chest caved in from its wounds; she was covered nearly head to toe in blood as her adrenaline finally lowered, realizing the carnage she'd caused. She dropped the blade, her hands shaking as they gripped her stomach; her baby was wiggling wild inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my time line is a little off :c sorry folks! As always I'd love some feedback.


	35. Chapter 35

Victor's heart jumped to his throat as he came upon the safehouse, the door broken open; in the middle of the woods, barely within Gotham limits, who would possibly have come here? 

He knew he'd been gone too long; Barbara and her little gang had been running amok with that little weasel Ed, and while they enjoyed their new power they had no idea how to use it.  And as the city was thrown into chaos by that ginger freak, he'd been on crisis control. Staring now into the the broken down entrance in dull morning light, he cursed himself over and over again. 

"Agneta!?" He roared as he ran in; someone had definitely been there. Muddy boot prints that couldn't be hers tracked through the house, guiding him to the broken basement door. "Oh god," his breath hitched and for the first time in years, he felt tears well in his eyes; she had to be okay. His heart nearly stopped as he came to the pool of dark blood at the bottom of the stair, hands shaking as he looked desperately for her. 

"Victor?" A quiet voice called out; his heart rate slowed as he placed it as hers. He made his way to the basement bath, gaze finally softening as he found her there; two unknown bodies laid by the tub, skin almost blue; she was inside it, soaking in a red pool she'd no doubt concocted herself. Why had he worried? 

"Hey cupcake," he breathed, loosening the ascot around his neck. "What happened here?" 

She stirred under the liquid, her pregnant tummy peeking out from the surface. "These two broke in for some reason; couldn't have them threatening our little one." She palmed her stomach, feeling excitement from within. 

"Mm, my strong mama bear," he teased, losing his jacket and gloves. He started on the buttons of his shirt. "You had me worried there... we'll need to move you." 

"Yeah I figured," she shrugged; it was likely an inevitability. "Come here." 

He followed her instruction as he peeled off his button down, kneeling by her bath. He took his hand and guided it to her bump, gasping as he felt movement under his fingertips. 

"Hey there..." he whispered, tracing little circles against her skin; he had surprised himself with his elation at becoming a father. Had the law not got in the way, he would've made a mother of her years ago. 

"She seems to know when you're near," she explained, her delicate hands meeting his. "She missed her daddy."

"She? Is that right?" He chuckled, reaching back to thumb off his boots. 

"I don't really know, but I have a feeling," she confessed, watching as he stood to undo his tight trousers. Her tongue danced across her lips as they slid down his thighs; they had begun to bear a few of his tallies. "Were you hoping for a boy?" 

"All I want is a little of you, a little of me," he purred, losing his underwear and exposing his steadily hardening manhood; pregnancy suited her, and now covered in blood and his scars she was more tantalizing than he had ever seen her. "But right now I just want to fuck the mother of my child." 

She grinned as her beast purred inside her, hungry for its love. She hoisted herself up and out of her bath; it was growing cold anyway. His arms secured around her, lifting her from the tub and capturing her mouth with his. The time they'd had to spend apart made her lips that much sweeter, that much more irresistible. His tongue slid inside to meet hers, dancing a well known and loved dance as he carried her carefully to her bed; it wasn't as lux as his, but it served it's purposes. 

He rested her back against her blankets, crawling over form, careful of her stomach as his lips and teeth raked against her jaw and skin, the metallic heat of her bath delicious on his tongue. 

"I missed you, gorgeous," he groaned, his hips rolling against hers. He leaned up a little awkwardly, his brow furrowing at the added mass. "Uh... what's the best way to do this?" He asked, looking up at her for direction. 

She giggled at his trepidation; Victor was used to aggressive, wild rutting, but his better angels demanded sensitivity to her condition. "Lie on your back, darling. Let me handle this part." 

He eagerly followed her command, hopping up to the far side of her and stretching out, his hands behind his head. She smiled at him gently before she crept over, her back to him. She cast a leg over his hips, straddling his hungry length and meeting his tip with her entrance. 

"Oh sweetheart you look so good at this -ah - angle," he grunted as his head slipped between her folds, pleased to find her moist and getting wetter. His hips twitched, but he waited for her movements first, hands soft on her hips as she lowered herself further, shuddering as he stretched her pussy. "Fuck I missed this..." 

"Mm... me too, love," she gasped as he filled her to the hilt, savoring that full sensation only he supplied. She raised her hips again, not far as she slid back down, picking up a steady, certain rhythm. "You can move, Victor. I won't break."

She gasped as he reached up and gripped her hair, damp from her bath, yanking her backwards and flush to his chest. His mouth fell against her shoulder as his hands slid to her front, cupping her breasts as he changed the tempo of their love making; his muscles flexing rapidly as he fucked harder, faster. She moaned as his fingers toyed at her nipples, already tender due to the wild increase in hormones. 

"Oh god, Victor!" She yelped, her hand reaching back to turn his head as she turned hers, meeting eye to eye. She was panting now, his control causing her to lose her own. 

"Yeah that's right, say my name," he snarled, claiming her mouth with his as he thrust in hard, bottoming out a moment as his hands groped her chest, groaning against her lips. "Fuck, pregnant looks so good on you, babe. I swear these are bigger." A hand flew lower, fingers circling around her sensitive bundle of nerves and forcing a long, lingering whimper from her lips. 

"Mm yes, fuck me Victor, harder!" She begged as he gleefully obliged, throwing himself upwards into her greedy walls, his eyes locked on hers as he felt her grow tighter. His fingers picked up pace, eager to bring her to the edge and push her over. 

"Oh god Victor--" she just barely eeked out before she saw white, her hand gripping his smooth skull as her orgasm shook her, her body convulsing in throes of ecstasy. 

"Yes, that's it, fuck!" He growled as his lips mashed against hers, pushing himself as deep as he could into her vice like walls, ropes of his seed painting her insides. He tried to subdue a shudder but failed, gasping for breath as they both came down from their shared high. "Hot damn, Agneta." 

"Seconded," she said with a laugh, her hips twitching as his slowly softening member slipped from inside her, sensing his release dripping down her leg. "Well at least you can't get me pregnant again." 

He hummed a deep chuckle, his arms wrapping her in a soft embrace; one hand placed steady and firm against her belly. His child seemed to know his touch, a light stir moving within. A forlorn expression crossed his face, and it did not go unnoticed.

"...you can't stay here, Agneta." 

She knew what he meant; Gotham was becoming more dangerous, and if two nobodies had managed to find this safehouse, there was no telling who could  when dedicated. As strong as she was, she was a weakness for him. And though she hated to admit it, pregnancy left her in a compromised state.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes drawn up to the ceiling again. Her palms rested on his hands, drawing tiny circles around his tallies. "It... it would be best for the baby." 

His mouth was a thin line as he pressed it to her shoulder, breathing in her scent. It felt as if they were on borrowed time, a clock counting down til he had to hide her away. 

"I'll call Falcone." 

She twisted her head, her brows knitting towards him. "Falcone?" 

"He's got property down South," he nodded, kissing her skin softly. "It'll be safer. He's a good man; and besides, he's not one to turn away an unwed pregnant woman." He dug his teeth in softly as she elbowed his ribs in jest. 

"Well isn't that charitable?" She threw over her shoulder, his hands moving across her bump. "How far south?" 

"Little place down in Florida; no crossing country lines for you, my felony fuck toy--ow!" He rubbed his cheek after she'd pinched him hard. 

"I suppose it will be fine, so long as I keep my nose clean." 

"A true feat; but we've got a good reason now don't we?" He smiled as he felt his baby kick again from inside it's mother.

"Agreed...I'll get to packing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated!!


	36. Chapter 36

They had been driving for a week, Victor refusing to let her fly; too many horror stories of pregnant women on planes. She found it charming that of all things for him to be cautious over, it was this. She watched the city names pass, rolling across the country to her apparent new home. 

What Victor had not mentioned to Falcone during his call was the fact that Agneta was expecting, nor that he would need to call in a long list of favors in exchange for her safety. Carmine had always been old fashioned about relationships, and he was unsure he would've allowed them to come if he'd known. As their vehicle climbed the hilly estate where the ex mafioso now lived, the hitman couldn't help the thick lump in his throat.

"Are you alright?" Agneta prompted him over his worried look, placing a hand on his. 

He gave a cocky smile and a nod. "I'm peachy, cupcake." 

Carmine had elected to meet them in his courtyard, which overlooked the ocean and a small orchard. He was curious as to why his staff had rushed ahead of his guests, mumbling something about the pair; instantly understanding what he'd meant when the couple stepped onto the veranda. 

"Victor," Falcone always had a talent for hiding his surprise in his tone, but Victor could feel some apprehension as he hugged his previous boss. "And Agneta... you look radiant." He smiled in a polite but chilled tone, his eyes carefully moving between her face and her belly. 

"T-thank you, Don Falcone." She replied softly; something about his presence made her incredibly self conscious; despite the pride she had in holding Victor's baby. 

The trio sat at a small table the Don had arranged for them, quickly having the wine replaced with a sparkling cider. 'Out of respect for our young mother', he'd said. As the old friends spoke, she allowed her hand to rest softly on her curved stomach; nerves and hormones had the child increasingly active. 

"Agneta?" 

She snapped from her trance to see the old man's expectant expression.  "I'm sorry, sir I was distracted. What were you saying?" 

"I was wondering if you'd like a tour of my home. My daughter would be happy to show you around." Unbeknownst to her, a doe eyed brunette had appeared beside her seat, smiling gently.  

"Sofia," she introduced herself, offering her hand. As Agneta took it, the Don's daughter pulled her up, beginning to lead her from the scene. "We'll let the boys have their chat; let me show you the grounds." 

As his lover was tugged away, Victor could feel the tension in the air grow thick, Falcone's eyes sharp on him. He gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. The Don didn't find it amusing. 

"She's quite pregnant." Carmine spoke matter of factly,  as casually as if he'd said it were raining. 

"Uh huh," Victor pursed his lips, studying his old friend and mentor. "About five months along." 

"I see." 

"Don Falcone, I..." he leaned forward, wringing his hands and trying to find his words. "Could she stay here? At least until she's had the baby; Gotham isn't safe right now, and--"

"Do you intend on keeping the child?" Carmine's question caught him off guard. 

"Well, yeah; that's my kid in there," he threw him an incredulous look. "I know we're not dear old dad and soccer mom material, but w--"

"Couldn't help but notice there's still no ring on her finger," the Don wasn't about to suffer excuses. "She's carrying your child; the least you could do is make a decent woman out of her."

"Hey," he spat back firmly. "She's a decent woman all on her own. As it is I don't want her thinking I need a shotgun to my head to marry her." 

Falcone closed his eyes in thought. He wasn't one to be needlessly cruel, and with all the work Victor had supplied him with over the years he wasn't about to turn him away. "She can stay," Victor's body relaxed, calming to think he'd found her safety. "But I'd like to see you wed before you leave. If not for her, oblige an old man and friend his wish." He didn't feel right telling him how little time he had left. 

 

Victor shifted in his seat; he had hoped when the time came, he wouldn't be pushed to the altar. He fully intended on spending his life with her, but he never saw the need for the piece of paper and wedding bands. Despite the fact that it irked him, he gave a sharp nod; hoping she'd say yes when he explained the parameters.

"Wonderful; I'll see things put together," Carmine declared, standing.

"Now wait a second, I have to ask her first." Victor stammered; he knew without much doubt that she would say yes; but his nerves tingled still. 

His old friend laughed, patting his shoulder as he moved them from the terrace. "Quite right; let's go find our girls."

 

Sofia had lead Agneta right to the grand foyer of the mansion; it was palacial, warm and inviting, with brilliant works of art lining the walls. 

"So... what's Gotham like?" The dark haired girl asked excitedly. Agneta was taken aback by her enthusiasm. 

"You've never been?" 

"Not since I was young. My father keeps me caged down here," she sighed and pouted, casting her eyes around the home; in hers it was as small as a fish bowl. "Won't let me keep up with the family business." 

She was surprised in how the young woman confided in her. She tried her best to be as motherly as possible, seeing it as good practice for the coming life. "I'm sure he's acting out of love... I find we all go to great lengths to protect what we care for most." 

"I'm not a what, though," she replied, a little sadness in her tone. "I'm a who; a Falcone, for goodness sake. I was made for Gotham, it's in my blood." 

Agneta could sympathize with the young Falcone's feelings; she felt trapped, with what must've felt like no end in sight. "That may be so; but Gotham tends to spit out those who aren't ready. It chewed me up until I stopped pretending to be who I wasn't and began my life over in earnest," she cast a smile across her bump, smoothing a hand over it. "Maybe you should concern yourself less with being a Falcone and more with being a Sofia." 

Her last words seemed to fall on deaf ears, the girl seeming to be engrossed by one of her father's paintings. "So... have you and Victor been together long?" 

She was never certain of how to answer that question. "...awhile, yes." Was the best she could come up with. 

"That's nice," she gave her guest a sweet smile, but Agneta could see a disinterest in her eyes. "I always wondered about him; always seemed the lone wolf type." 

"I suppose every wolf can find its pack eventually." 

They turned at the sound of footsteps, Carmine and Victor ambling down a long connecting hallway. Victor sought her out immediately, calmed to have her back within his arms. 

"Are you okay, Victor?" She murmurred against his shoulder as he held her, careful of her stomach. 

"Absolutely, sweetheart," he beamed at her, a hand stroking her hair. "How about you and I take a walk? There's something we need to discuss."


	37. Chapter 37

"So... what do you think?" 

Agneta stared at Victor with a nervous bewilderment as he leaned against a wall, his arms crossed. She was still processing what he'd asked, not completely sure she'd heard him right.

"You want to be married?"

"The Don wants us to be married. Said if I'm old enough to have a kid, I'm smart enough to marry the woman who's making it." 

Her hand found her cheek, letting her gaze drift out of a large window that overlooked the water. She knew without a doubt she wouldn't let him go again; this was the man who'd be by her side forever. She'd never found it particularly vital that they got hitched. 

"He's old fashioned," Victor continued, feeling she needed more coaxing. "He's always been the eternal damnation type; I think he's trying to save our souls," this earned a little smile, letting his body relax. He took her by the arm, guiding her eye to him. "I know it's not some fairytale crap, but if it means your safety I'd cut off my damn arm." 

She took his face in her palms, pulling him close for a kiss; she couldn't recall the last time they'd kissed so chastely, so purely. "Well..." she mumbled slowly, running a hand across his head. "I don't think I can get away with white."

He blinked, his dark eyes wide. "Is... is that a yes?" 

"Of course, darling. You're stuck with me." 

He grinned and held her close, his mouth finding hers once more in a passionate, happy kiss. She held him as tight as she could, their baby squirming softly in her belly; she was just as excited. He rested his forehead against hers, taking in her face - her eyes, her nose, her smiling mouth - the woman who would be his wife. 

"I love you, Agneta." He admitted, hands tangling in her hair. Her heart skipped to finally hear him say it, that little truth both had known for years; if there was ever a time to say it, it was now. It surprised her how it warmed her heart, her body thrilled and electrified, like learning a secret just between the two of them. 

"I love you too, Victor." 

 

It was a quick ceremony; Carmine had arranged for an officiant the next night over, just as Penguin had begun his incessant calls to summon Victor back to Gotham. Agneta near flung the device into the sea before Victor promised to shut it away; this was more important. 

Hands joined on the same terrace where they'd been received, the sun had just fallen from the sky as the minister presiding over the ceremony asked if they had anything they wanted to say. Agneta found herself scrambling, unsure of what might tumble from her lips; but Victor was certain. 

"I've got some words," he told the clerk, turning his attention to his lover. She was a picture; her hair thick and hanging soft on her shoulders, her pregnancy lending a softness to her features. A little extra weight wore well on her. "Agneta... my cupcake. My sweetheart," his grin was wide and excited, how he looked when he killed. "You are everything to me; you're brilliant, deadly, you're irresistible, as your belly can prove," he joked, a soft laugh drawn from her lips. "From the moment I saw your crazy, hot ass stabbing that asshole to death in that alley in Sheboygan; I knew our lives would be tangled together forever," he swallowed down a nervousness. "Even... even when I lost you, when I was scared and cowardly and weak, you were strong. You protected me, despite me being... just the worst," he choked on surprising emotion welling inside him. "But I won't lose you again. You're stuck with me, and for as long as I breathe, I'll be strong for you. I will protect you. I will love you." His thumb stroked a tear from her cheek; she wondered who she was, blubbering like a virginal bride over his words. 

Maybe she'd never thought he'd say them; never believed he'd felt them. But standing there now, air cooling from the night's onslaught and staring into his teary dark eyes, doubt had left her. Uncertainty was gone. Things were different here; in a way she had never expected. In a way she had never dared to want. 

"Victor..." she whispered. "I have walked through hell and back. I have felt first hand the cruelty of humanity, and I have done and seen the worst things a person can do," his face twitched slightly, unsure of her words. "I have been terrified, drugged, tortured; I've been told everything about me is wrong," she stared up at him, smiling softly.  "But never by you. For all the years you've known me, you've seen me for who I am; you saw the monster in me and didn't run. You fell in love," he relaxed and held her by the waist, listening to her vows intently. "I told myself I could be alone; and I can be. But I don't want to; and I'm through not letting myself have what I want. I want you, our child, and nothing will ever alter that. You're stuck with me." 

Even Carmine, standing to the side, found the words between the two killers moving. The officiant said a few final words as Victor slipped on of his rings from his hand, placing it on her left. It weighed heavy on her hand, but she loved it nonetheless; their baby was practically doing back flips as the minister allowed them their kiss, sealing their deal. 

"Done and done," Victor mumbled against her mouth, resistant to pull away. "My wife Agneta; my blood soaked Heathen." 

In this moment she didn't even mind him using her old name; right now, she was her. She was all she'd ever been and everyone she'd ever be, kissing her new husband; vicious Heathen, shy Agneta, and everything else in between. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so happy, so utterly safe. 

"Congratulations," Carmine's smooth, cool voice offered then, placing a hand on Victor's shoulder. "I couldn't imagine two people more suited for one another." 

"Yeah we two are just peas in a pod, aren't we?" Victor grinned, and without much warning swept Agneta from the ground; his arms tucked securely behind her back and her thighs. She gasped, startled, but settled as he laid a kiss against her cheek. 

"Now boss, if you don't mind; I'm gonna go make an honest woman out of my wife," he strode off in the direction of the house, a mischievous spring in his step. "Sorry about the noise in advance!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on the last legs here guys; feedback very much appreciated in these final chapters.


	38. Chapter 38

He may as well had been sprinting with how fast he found her quarters; she hadn't asked for much, just enough space for herself and the baby when it came. All they needed was the bed. 

As he kicked open the door to her new home his lips found hers, kissing with a ferocity and claim she'd not felt before. She groaned against him, wriggling from his grasp and finding her feet as she slammed the door shut. He took her hands, guiding her to the soft linens across the mattress, still ever careful of her stomach despite his nature craving to devour her. 

"Hot damn, Agneta," he breathed, supporting himself over her with outstretched arms, splitting her legs with his hips. "I don't know if it's the baby or that ring on your finger, but I don't think you've ever been sexier." 

"I never took you to be so traditional." she teased, attempting to draw him in. As she tried, he took hold on the soft silk Carmine had placed her in, ripping it apart to reach the skin beneath; she had expected as much and had forgone undergarments for the occasion, much to his delight. She couldn't have cared less about the dress; it wasn't his wife, she was.

"Not to worry, sweetcheeks; I can get pretty goddamn absurd." He assured her he leaned up over her, removing his customary vest and shirt; his body gleaming in moonlight, scars turned silver. He gazed down at her, like she was a fertility goddess made for him to worship; exactly as he intended. His body dropped low on hers, hurriedly drawing her legs up over his shoulders, tongue and lips tracing languid kisses to her sex. 

"Oh my--" she whimpered as his mouth closed around her clit, suckling and teasing the little bundle to excitement as his wide hands locked at her hips. Her body danced against the sheets as his tongue explored every crevice as if it were brand new, like a sweet he'd never tasted before. 

"Mm darling I could eat you for the rest of my days," he purred, his tongue squirming into her entrance, dipping directly into the source of his favorite taste. He savored the feeling of her hands cupping his skull, drawing him in tight against her pussy as his tongue went wild. She bucked and squirmed underneath him but he wouldn't cease, couldn't stop; the way she reacted was too intoxicating, her flavor too appetizing. He held her still and purred proudly against her body as her moans filled the air; he'd no doubt he'd get an earful from Falcone the next morning, but it'd be worth it. 

"V-Victor, please..." she begged as he allowed a hand to join his efforts, filling her pussy with a pair of fingers and making her scream. The way he touched her was as if it was the first time, newly invigorated and eager. "V-Victor, stop!" 

He raised his head; her wetness spread across his chin and mouth. "What?" He muttered, his brow furrowing as his fingers curved up to stroke her most sensitive spot languidly. 

"A-as good as this feels," she arched and shuddered under his actions, his tongue flicking across her clit teasingly. "I want my husband to fuck me."

He grinned, pulling his fingers back and bouncing up to his feet, hurriedly unbuckling and unfastening his belt and pants; shedding his final layers til he was bare as well. His erection jutted out from his groin, lining up with her entrance at the ready as he knelt over her. One hand steadied himself on her knee while the other drew slow circles on her belly, watching her face contort as he eased himself in, inch by inch. 

"Mm... better? Is that what you wanted?" He chuckled low in his chest, rocking his hips back and forth at an agonizing, leisurely pace, edging himself a little further in with each thrust until he'd bottomed out to his hilt. 

"Y-yes," she breathed softly, in quick succession, her back curving as she felt every inch of him nestled inside her, his tip prodding at the spongy, climax-guaranteeing place within. "Oh, yes there!" 

"I know cupcake, right there," he replied, allowing his thrusts to grow a little harder, a little faster. Laid before him she was his alter and his deity, his actions were his prayer. "I know what you need." He beamed as a hard snap brought their bodies skin to skin, her nails just digging into his hips to hold him there; he would never get tired of the chorus that was her repeating his name. With a nod from her, he allowed himself a little more aggression; recognizing she knew what her body could take better than he did, he threw himself into her in a steady, heavy rhythm, his own groans beginning to match hers. 

She gazed up at him, his own dark pupils locked on hers as their hips met in a dizzying refrain of slapping skin, a soft, soaked sound downplayed by their words to each other. Ever since her pregnancy had really begun to show, he seemed even more attracted to her; and now, with his baby inside her and his ring on her finger, he was giving all he had. His grunts  grew to pants as her walls began to cave around him, a wet vice grip around his cock. 

"Vi-Victor yes, that's perfect..." she managed to barely squeak out her words, the threat of her oncoming orgasm made her mind go blank, unaware of the world around her aside from herself and the man inside her. 

"You're telling me; fuck, oh you're close aren't you?" He let his head dip back and his eyes close a moment, his hand dipping down between her legs to find that little gem, the pad of his thumb grinding into her. 

"I-oh, oh god Victor!" She screamed out his name as his last few turns and thrusts threw her past the point of no return, the flood and force around his length causing him to do the same, crying out her name as his release emptied inside her waiting walls, forcing it deep with a few final pushes. 

He held her knees still in a heavy grip, his knuckles white as he refused to slid himself from her warmth; in part for the feeling, but also as he knew he'd have to return to Gotham the following morning. She knew the same, but relented the feeling as he finally pulled away, finding the place next to her, strong arms encasing her form. 

"I don't know how it always feels like the first time." He admitted, burying kisses across her hair, drowning in her smell. 

"First time as husband and wife," she pointed out, reaching a hand up to stroke his smooth cheek. "Counts for something." 

"For everything," he agreed, his eyes closing while a hand rested on her bump. "I... I never really saw myself as the husband and father type." 

"I didn't see it for myself either," she admitted, resting her fingers on his. "But I couldn't choose a better person to learn with." 

A sleepy smile crossed his face. "I love you, Agneta." He sighed as fatigue captured him; his nerves and actions finally caught up, forcing him to sleep. She was soon to follow.


	39. Chapter 39

She had never been more restless; Agneta felt like a caged bird, flitting around a cage growing smaller by the second. Despite the massive size of Falcone's home, the halls seemed to shrink daily, as she grew larger. Now at nearly nine months along, she felt bigger than the house she lived in. 

She drew herself up on sore legs, her hands supporting her back as she hoisted herself from her bed; the last few days had been some of her worst, constantly feeling as if she was about to burst, her emotions flying back and forth on a dime.  Her child, impatient to meet the world, kicked and prodded against her organs; there were moments she swore she could feel it's tiny hands grasping her tubes, tugging for its life. Today there was something different, however; a strange pulling sensation in her core, like her muscles were running from each other. 

"Hush, darling," she had taken to speaking to it softly, rubbing a comforting hand over the large swell of her stomach as she prepared for her day. She wriggled into an airy cotton dress; one of the few garments she could still wear, choosing to forego footwear; nothing fit her swollen toes anymore. Today was hers; as soon as Victor had vanished back to Gotham, Falcone had insisted on weekly visits with a gynecologist. He felt a kinship with their baby, viewing his former employee as a son and this his first grandchild, and as a condition of her stay her health became paramount. 

"How are we feeling this morning, Agneta?" As per usual, she found her host outside with his chickens. He praised his birds, saying they kept him well rounded. She had wobbled her way through the marble hallways like an unsteady bowling ball. 

"Big as a house, Carmine." She offered him a kind smile. In the months she'd been there they had grown close; being that his interests were staked in her health, there was no reason they not become friends. He would tell her stories of what Gotham was like when he was growing in power, his life growing up; even memories of Victor, when he'd first come to Gotham and how he'd smoothed his rough edges. Something in her had even convinced him to share his diagnosis with her; provided she didn't worry her husband with the truth. He didn't want his final months consumed by sadness. 

"Nonsense dear; the little one is just eager to see the world," the old mafioso replied, taking her hands; it concerned him when he felt her fingers squeeze and her brow furrow. "What's the matter?"

"Oh I'm fine, Carmine; just impatient little fists and all." She tried to aleviate his concerns, but the pulling sensation from her morning had not diminished; if anything, they were becoming more prominent. 'It's too early,' she told herself. 'We're still weeks away.' 

The old boss didn't look convinced; he'd seen labor twice over, with his own children, and his wife had been just as insistent with timing when Mario was born. The way Agneta's eyes crinkled, like something had stung her, bore a familiarity he knew well. 

"Why don't you take it slow today? I'm sure Sofia would be happy to spend some time with you." Unlike her father, Agneta hadn't found much camaraderie with Sofia Falcone. She was aloof, and though she felt just as trapped here, her uninhabited body allowed her wider limits; Agneta hadn't so much as set foot off of the grounds since she'd arrived. Either way she never cared for spending time with both Falcones in the same room; it almost always wound up as a screaming match. 

"It's alright, Carmine; I'd hate to trouble you. I was thinking of sketching from the terrace again, see if I gain some new perspectives."

He had enjoyed her studies since she'd arrived.  "Alright; should you need anything, make us aware." 

 

With a nod she left him with his coop, fetching her artist implements from a small tray kept by the French doors that opened to the veranda. She'd spent hours seated in every possible angle, capturing the forest, town and ocean below. As she raised her pencil to her pad, her heart yearned to be painting; in the way only she had mastered. It felt as if her hands hadn't touched blood in centuries, and her ache for it matched the ache for her husband. He hadn't been able to pull himself from Gotham since the wedding; now, this pause was the longest they'd been without each other since her time in prison. All she wanted was to touch him with red hands as she so often did. 

The pains hadn't subsided as she capped off the tops of the trees below; they'd become more acute. 'No,' she kept saying as the twinges became throbs 'it's not time, he's not here'. A particularly sharp pang rocked her, the sketchpad falling from her hand as she grasped her stomach. 

"M-miss Agneta?" The quiet voice of a maid called from within the house; no doubt having been stationed to keep an eye on her. Her hormones off the charts, she couldn't help a mean yell as she marched back to the door. 

"Please, I am fine just leave me be!" She wrung her hands in the direction of the cowering staff member. "The baby is just really active today! I ju--" a loud groan took her voice from her as the throbs and pangs and twinges turned to an all out pain; like her muscles were clamping from the outside. 'Oh no.' 

"I-I'll go get Don Falcone!" The little woman squeaked, but was halted when Agneta wrapped her fingers around her wrist, almost breaking bone. 

"L-let's go together; I'm not out of the game yet." She tried to manage a smile as the pains dulled. The maid could do little to stop her and acquiesced to her demand, making their way slowly and unsteadily across marble halls; of course now, of all times he'd be impossible to find. 

"M-miss Agneta maybe you could wait here while I look for him?" The maid offered as they came to a small lounge, a plush sofa looking incredibly inviting. 

"No," she huffed. "We can find him; I'm just not sure how I'll handle stai--" this time the pain forced an all out scream from her lips, collapsing to her knees. "FUCK!" She roared, her voice breaking as she cradled her belly. The maid had already took off in a sprint, calling her boss' name frantically. 

Agneta was left hyperventilating on the floor, her body aching from her muscles spasming; she couldn't concede it to be labor, she was in no way ready. She had the items and accouterments that were required for a child, but she wasn't quite sure she had the nerve. How could big bad Heathen be so scared of such a tiny person? 

"Agneta!" The old man's call brought a comfort and chill to her bones, making his way to her as quick as his legs could carry him. She was still doubled over on his marble tile, clutching at her dress. 

"C-Carmine," she gasped as her body tortured her again, another scream falling from her lips. "I think...I think it's time." 

He couldn't help an excited smile, as he knelt to offer her a shoulder which she gladly latched to. "I thought it might be," He raised her gingerly, the young maid taking her other side to carry her along as best they could. "We'll get you comfortable and I'll ring for the doctor; given this is your first pregnancy you've got a long road ahead." He rubbed her back sympathetically; he expected she may have to suffer through a day's worth of agony before she could hold her child. 

"I need Victor," she whimpered, arching her spine against further pains. "He has to be here; I need him." 

"He will be, dear; I called him a few hours ago," her face turned to him in surprise and he responded with a kind smile. "I had a feeling today would be the day."


	40. Chapter 40

She managed a weak little tug at her lips, grateful to have anyone by her side, particularly someone who cared so deeply. She thought in bafflement how lucky she was; despite the excessively complicated politics in Gotham, Falcone still allowed her refuge; he didn't let the ghosts of his past interfere with the present. It was a kindness she hadn't expected but whole heartedly welcomed.

She shrieked as the stabs came on again, now resting on her back in her room; hands twisting up in sheets and Falcone gave orders of what was needed to the maid. "He had better get here soon; because I will fucking kill him for doing this to me!" 

Falcone smiled; his wife had said the same thing. 

3 centimeters? How could she only be 3 centimeters dilated after hours of incredibly aggressive contractions. She needed to be restrained when the doctor informed her she could not be numbed yet; they were still in store for intense pains.

"Carmine," she muttered weakly, grabbing for his hand; he'd not left her side, watching her and the physician closely and ensuring her safety. She stared up at him with blurry vision and tear soaked eyes, trying to grasp with what little strength she had. "Carmine it hurts..." 

"I know dear, I know," he cooed and stroked a sweat drenched lock from her forehead; it was taking an incredible toll on her, though the expert assured them she showed no signs of complication. "You're doing marvelously; you can ride this out." 

She gave a little nod, screeching bloody murder as another pain hit; it had been growing more dramatic. The doctor sank between her legs, checking her status.

"Good news Miss Agneta; that's 5 centimeters and you're at 60 seconds apart. You ready to meet your little one?" The question brought on a strange swirl of emotions; fear, excitement, despair. Victor still hadn't arrived, and as much as she hated acting like some dependent little ninny she wanted him there. Carmine must've sensed her worries and squeezed her hand tightly. 

"It's alright Agneta; you're strong." With his words and mustering all her bravery, she took a breath and started to push. 

It felt like years she spent bearing down, trying to force herself to open and expel her efforts over the last 9 months; she felt as if she slipped in and out of consciousness, entirely focused on the task at hand. She barely heard her own screams filling the room, barely registered Carmine's words of encouragement; and barely felt it as a new hand took hers, a hairless figure smiling down at her. She was too far gone, her instincts having took over completely in an effort to accomplish birth. The doctor commanded further pushes, her nethers and lungs on fire, every muscle in her body wound so tight she felt she would break; when the pressure finally gave way, a weight left her body, and a new voice filled her ears. 

"She's here!" The physician announced, holding up her baby to see; a tiny pink body, crying something fierce, dark hair stuck to its scalp with blood and amniotic fluid. Finally her body relaxed and gave in to stress, passing out as she caught Victor's voice in her ear. 

"We have a daughter, Agneta." 

When she finally woke, the scene that greeted her was different than the one she'd left; house staff were wadding up used, bloodied sheets, Carmine spoke to the doctor in a hushed voice. She threw her eye around the room before it fell on who she searched for; he'd made it. 

Stood under the light of a window with a white bundle in his arms, his eyes were locked onto his child's face, bouncing her lightly. She could see his lips moving absentmindedly, smiling through the sweet words he no doubt was mumbling. He managed to look completely natural with her; like he'd held her all his life. 

"Victor," she croaked, instantly catching his attention. The grin on his face was wider than she'd ever seen.  

"Hey cupcake," he murmurred, easing himself onto the mattress, nestling into her side. "You want to meet our little bruiser?" 

She nodded. "Would you place her on my chest? I don't think I can use my arms right now," He chuckled and set the little wad of linen holding their baby onto her bosom; from within the white folds a tiny face stared up at her, wide eyed and inquisitive. Her eyes were bright like her mother's, her hair such a deep brown it was near black, curling up from her head.   
"My god... I can't believe we made this." 

"I can," Victor said confidently, laying a kiss to his wife's forehead. "She's got a pair of fighters in her corner; and her mom is the strongest person I know." She smiled softly, the small creature mumbling sounds against her skin. 

"She's perfect. Look at those curls!" She chuckled, finally managing to lift her hand and draw the swaddle off her child's head. The near black coils coated her little scalp, wild and unruly. 

"Just like her dad," he gave a smirk, running a hand across his bald head. "Well, used to anyway." 

She looked between him and their daughter; it was hard to picture him with hair of any kind. The little girl began to fuss, wriggling against her mother. "I bet she's starving." Agneta decreed; she found her body acting out of instinct, drawing down a strap of her now ruined dress to expose her breast; the baby getting the picture and latching on, enjoying her first meal in the outside world. 

"You make a lovely mother, Agneta." Carmine came and stood at her side, having regained his steadfast composure; even still she could see a glee bubbling under his cool demeanor. 

"Thank you Carmine; for everything," She stroked her daughter's hair, curling her fingers in it as the little thing suckled against her. "You've done more for us than I ever could have asked." 

The watchful old boss merely smiled; for all the work Victor had done over the years, this was nothing. 

"I'll leave you three to get acquainted." He responded with a nod to the staff, bunching up the damaged linens to be thrown away. 

"Wait, Carmine; could we keep those?" She pointed a weak finger towards the sheets, drawing a strange expression of Falcone's face. Again he nodded, and the housekeepers moved to set them at the end of her bed.  Victor gave her a similar look, raising his hairless brow. "This is the blood that brought our girl into the world, love. I don't think I'll ever see a more lovely shade of red." 

His face softened, holding her close as his friend and boss left them alone; completely engrossed in their child. He was struck for a moment, wondering if she would be afflicted with the same condition he had, and lose her curls; not that it'd matter. She'd be beautiful all the same. He watched his wife draw little swirls through their daughter's hair, hypnotized and likely still hazy. Once again she'd proven herself to be unimaginably strong, a quality he hoped she'd passed on to the baby. 

"You outdid yourself, Agneta," he spoke so gently it barely sounded like himself. He ran his fingertips over his child's cheek, soft and smooth. "Your best work yet. A total masterpiece." 

"I don't think I'll ever top this," she agreed, placing a soft kiss on her baby's head. "No matter how hard I try."

They laid there for ages, in a comfortable silence but for their newborn's little babbling. Neither could remember when they'd last had the time to do this; just be at each other's side, no expectations or assassinations getting in their way. Eventually Victor would have to go back - in uncertain times neither could say when he could return, or when she could join him with their child - but the unyielding truth couldn't penetrate their thoughts then; they were only of her. 

"What should we name the little squirt?" Victor wondered, breaking the quiet as he kissed his wife's hair, breathing in the faint scent of blood along with her natural scent. "Can't just keep calling her 'kid' - I doubt she'd like that."

"I had one in mind..." she looked up at him, then back to the little girl; she had little doubt he would object. "What do you think of Carmen?" 

A funny expression crossed his face; he was a fan. Carmine had been a friend and confidante to him for years, and in the last months he had done the same for Agneta. There was no better name for her. 

"Carmen Zsasz?" He raised a hairless brow with a grin. "No objections here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm not all that familiar with childbirth >.>


	41. Chapter 41

In the time since she was born, Agneta had spent nearly every second with Carmen. Victor had managed to hold down a week with them before Penguin was calling him to his side; his power reinstated and Ed frozen away in a block of ice, he needed the best hitman alive to keep his tenuous rule in place. He had considered faking his death, too; but Agneta pointed out that at least one of them deserved to be doing what they did best. 

As it turned out, however, Agneta had another talent she was unaware of; she was an incredibly adept parent. She could practically sense Carmen's needs before she would cry, and the baby held her attention like she was the most fascinating being on the planet; to her, she was. Carmine had been glad to allow her stay to continue, preening over his namesake like she was made of gold. 

Today wasn't such a day, though. Today, Carmine had a guest. 

She recognized him from her second story window, though he didn't see her. He looked so tired; moreso than when she'd known him. For all the stresses Gotham put on Victor, it must've been trying to kill Jim Gordon. She watched the courtyard as he was received by Carmine, and she made note of Sofia's curious eyes as she crossed to the stables. But more than anything she stared at Jim. 

Jim Gordon, the man she'd blamed for her expulsion from the GCPD, for so-called 'ruining her life'. He'd sworn up and down he didn't; and even how she wasn't certain she'd believed him. But now, gazing down from her tower at the bedraggled, exhausted figure below her, she couldn't help but wonder who's life was in ruins. 

She chose not to prompt Carmine on what had brought Jim down south; whatever was his reasoning, the former mafioso would not bend. Doctors had given him little left to hope for, and he wasn't about to trade a veritable paradise for the streets of Gotham again. 

She didn't know what brought her to the solarium, but her feet carried her there as she rocked Carmen in her arms, compelled by some unknown force. It was a room she'd grown fond of spending time in, sun cascading in through sheer curtains; even Carmen seemed to enjoy it more than any other place, as much as one could at only a few months old. Sun soaked and happy, she shut her eyes, delving into the peace of holding her daughter; this happiness, this joy, it was normal now. It was her normal. 

"...Agneta?" 

Suddenly she knew the force that had pulled her down from her room; it's name was closure. At his gruff voice she turned, catching his eyes wide and expression baffled. As far as he'd known, she was dead. 

"Jim."

The detective took steps towards her, careful to keep a wary distance. "You... you're alive." Somehow it sounded more like a statement than a question, though he had hundreds.

"Seems like it," she replied with a cool smile. His eyes fell to the wad of squirming blanket at her chest, blinking with further confusion. "You've probably got a few questions." 

"How are you here?" Was his first; though he was beginning to piece together the events himself.

"Victor," she answered, shrugging a shoulder. "He brought me - us - down here, so we would be safe. Gotham wasn't the place to have our baby." The sentence hung in the air as he strode closer, dark curls and bright eyes coming into view. 

"That... that's Zsasz's kid?" He could hardly believe the words that left his lips. 

"Her name is Carmen." she let the edge of the blanket drop back slightly, allowing Jim a closer look at her daughter; confident that the upstanding policeman wouldn't harm her. 

He stared at the tiny creature, taking in her features; sure enough there were Zsasz's ears and nose, Agneta's lips and eyes. She blinked back up at the stranger, mumbling sounds towards her mother. "She's... she's beautiful." 

"She's strong," Agneta added. "Just like her parents," she glanced to Jim's face, seeing that sadness and envy had replaced his confusion. She had barely remembered that once upon a time, he too had been expecting a baby; one who had never came. "Would you... would you like to hold her?" 

He gave a nod as the new mother gingerly placed the child in his waiting arms, gentle as his hand cupped her head in safety; how had Victor Zsasz, one of the most sadistic, psychopathic killers he'd ever known, managed to create such a delicate thing? The baby gazed up at him and offered a little flicker of a smile, followed by a disjointed giggle; one could only guess what had set that off, but he dared to hope it was him. 

"I'm... I really can't believe this." He finally admitted, letting a sad smile find his face. 

"Sometimes I can't either," she whispered softly, stroking her baby's hair. "I never expected this to become my life; be a mother, marry Victor, let alone see him again..." 

"You married him?" He blurted out his question, eyebrows wiggling in disbelief. Smiling she raised her left hand; Victor had replaced his own personal ring with a simple band, serving as a fine reminder that she was his. 

"One of the conditions of my staying here, while we waited for her," she explained. "Then, once she was born... it just made more sense to stay here. I can keep her safe while Victor does what he does best."

He pursed his lips a moment. "Don't suppose you could convince him into retirement?" 

"No more than you could convince me, Jim," she raised a brow. "I'm not retired; I'm just on maternity leave." 

Jim sighed; he hated the thought of her returning to her 'paintings' in Gotham, hated that he was bound by law to subdue both Victor and her should he catch them. He couldn't imagine leaving the child without one of her parents. 

"I'm... I'm glad you're alive, Agneta." He motioned to return Carmen to her arms, which she gladly accepted. She studied the detective's features a moment,  waiting to see if he had other words to say. 

"So am I, Jim," before he left she stopped him, nudging him with her shoulder. "I... I might never believe that you didn't turn me in, Jim; but I don't think it matters anymore. If anything... even if you did tell the captain, you put me on a faster track to her," her lips fell to her daughter's head in a kiss. "I can only hope you'll find  a similar path soon." 

Somewhere, under the layers of red, the years of murder and torture, Jim could still see the shy girl in the yellow dress with blue flowers. She was still there; as was Heathen. She'd found a balance, an even keel that had finally allowed her happiness. He hoped he might see the same someday. 

"Thank you, Agneta. I'll say hello to Victor for you." He gave her shoulder a pat, as he'd done a lifetime ago, comforting her at the precinct. 

"Tell him he's overdue for a visit, too. Penguin can spare him for a week," she watched his lips tug with the threat of a smile, allowing himself his leave. In some years to come she might find herself hunting Jim Gordon across rooftops, through alleyways; but it would be half hearted. Her mind would always return to that conversation in the solarium, when the straight laced lawman had cradled the insane assassins' daughter; her shots would always be a little off, her slices non fatal. But that was years away. 

There would come a time when Heathen would terrorize Gotham again; when she and her husband's names would be threats again, nightmares in the minds of citizens. Their daughter would grow up knowing who her parents were, and what they could do; but she'd only ever know their love, and would see it double when her brother was born. But that was years away. 

For now, Agneta lived in balance with who she was. Her beast not chained, no, finally cooperated. She'd found peace with it; had found safety, love and joy in the last man she'd expected to find it in. Every time she would see him roll through Carmine's gates, see his broad grin as he made his way to her, every time she felt his touch, his kiss, and stared into his near black eyes, she reminded herself of the promise she'd made; one she would never fail to uphold. 

 

Things are different here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it folks :) I wanna thank everybody who's left Kudos, kind comments and read along with me since Agneta first arrived in Gotham. 
> 
> This may not be the last you see of Agneta; debating writing a prequel of how she met Victor Zsasz. If this is something you'd be interested in, let me know! 
> 
> Until then, thank you for reading :)


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